


To Keep Others Afloat While You Drown

by Blush (blushingcos)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bisexual Saihara Shuichi, Blood and Injury, Bookstores, Caretaking, Cutting, Dangan Ronpa is a TV show, Dessert & Sweets, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury, Injury Recovery, Medical Procedures, Medicine, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Post-Game(s), Post-Killing School Life (Dangan Ronpa), Post-New Dangan Ronpa V3, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Psychology, Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Self-Insert, Self-Medication, Stitches, Therapy, bearded dragon, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22933258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blushingcos/pseuds/Blush
Summary: After another stick of the needle, he cried out in pain. “Shit, lady!”You walked over to the pair with quiet footsteps. Your roommate’s attention remained strictly focused on the in and out of the needle through her patient’s skin. The boy noticed you, however, his purple eyes narrowing as you stopped behind the woman working on him. You nodded your head in greeting. “Hey.”
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi/Reader
Comments: 92
Kudos: 306





	1. Stitches

Your roommate had brought home another malnourished patient.

Or at least, that’s what you called them. She had a habit of picking injured people off the street after hours and bringing them back to your shared apartment for treatment. The first thing she offered to them was the hospital where she worked (even if she wasn’t on shift), but when they refused for one reason or another, she’d present the second option. That option more often than not involved taking over your living room with a makeshift stretcher and piled up medication bottles.

She was a hoarder of a doctor, but everything was carefully labeled and organized in a way that only she understood. Her patients always walked away sobbing in thanks for her help, so you had a hard time complaining. They never caused too much trouble, except making it impossible for you to watch TV or leave your room without pants, but you guessed those were minuscule problems compared to whatever they were facing.

You dropped your keys onto the hook by the door and kicked it shut behind you with your foot. The warmth of the apartment was welcoming after your walk home from work in the sudden snowfall, and as the seconds passed you felt the few snowflakes still clinging to your hair begin to melt. Lightly sipping at the hot tea in your gloved hands, you watched with quiet interest as your roommate stitched up a large gash on a boy’s arm.

He was squirming, more in annoyance it seemed then pain. She whispered something in a soothing voice she reserved only for rowdy patients and he scoffed in response. "Easy for you to say!"

Your roommate's patience must have been wearing thin because she barely spared him a glance, forgoing her usual sharp banter for silence.

After another stick of the needle, he cried out in pain. “Shit, lady!”

You walked over to the pair with quiet footsteps. Your roommate’s attention remained strictly focused on the in and out of the needle through her patient’s skin. The boy noticed you, however, his purple eyes narrowing as you stopped behind the woman working on him. You nodded your head in greeting. “Hey.”

Your roommate didn’t so much as flinch at the surprise as she tied up the stitch she was working on. She was immune to surprises you’d found, though you made it your personal goal to scare her despite that. You’d gone so far as to yank open the shower curtain on her one time, and even then she’d just bat her eyelids and calmly asked you to hand her the soap.

She looked up to meet your eyes, taking a momentary break from her patient. “Hello, y/n. How was your day?”

You shrugged, eyes fixated on the boy on the table. His dark purple hair fell around his face in thick strands, it looked soft to the touch despite its messy state. His eyes were purple to match. They were overly expressive, like he wasn’t an actual person but rather a caricature of one.

“Who’s this,” you asked, gaze never leaving the purple-haired boy as you two continued your silent staring match.

She seemed to forget the patient was even there, turning back to him at your mention with a soft _oh_ escaping her lips. He groaned as she went back to work on the stitches. “Would you like to introduce yourself?” She asked sweetly.

He scrunched his eyes together in pain, effectively breaking the staring match. “Gee, sure. I’d absolutely love to,” he grumbled, disdain dripping from his words.

You snickered. “She does this all the time.” You shrugged, taking another sip of your now lukewarm milk tea. “I think it’s weird, too.”

The boy seemed to finally notice you as more than just an intruder, his stare softening to something of amusement. Despite his loud personality, he looked more like a vulnerable child when enveloped with silence. His soft porcelain skin was broken by small bruises and cuts, the purple hues in his hair just making his dark circles more noticeable as well. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. 

You tilted your head to the side. “Ya want a drink?”

Your roommate paused her meticulous work to shoot you a glare. “Haven’t I told you not to offer my patients anything without my approval?”

“Sorry, slipped my mind,” you mused, shrugging as you brought the tea slowly to your lips to hide your smirk.

The boy smiled back devilishly, not bothering to hide it. “Do you have Panta?” He asked the question with the excitement of a child asking their parents for a toy at the store, stars practically forming in his eyes. 

You thought it over for a second, biting your lip as you mentally scanned through the items in your fridge.

“Don’t even think about it,” your roommate scolded under her breath. She'd gone back to work with the needle, not bothering to spare you a glance.

Suddenly remembering the bottles in the bottom drawer, your eyes widened in excitement. “Strawberry or grape?”

The boy tried his best to smirk, but as the needle resumed its path through his skin the edges of his eyes scrunched in pain rather than happiness. “Grape, pretty please!”

You nodded and made your way to the fridge, tossing your empty cup into the trashcan on the way. You grabbed the boy a grape Panta and a strawberry one for yourself. You weren't too fond of them, but something carbonated sounded good at the moment. Also, it would piss off your roommate. 

That was your favorite hobby.

Your roommate pulled away from the boy’s arm as she saw you walk back over. His stitches seemed to be done, a few layers of gauze wrapped around where the wound used to be. She stood up, slipping off her gloves and tossing them into the nearby trash reserved only for medical supplies. “Since you seem so _keen_ to follow this patient’s wishes, how about you watch him while I go wash my hands?”

You gave her a messy thumbs up since both your hands were holding Panta, and she rolled her eyes before disappearing into the bathroom. You turned to the ‘patient’ who’d pulled himself up to sitting and tossed him the grape drink. He caught it easily with his noninjured arm, immediately popping open the top and chugging down the liquid.

You whistled. “Doc not keeping you hydrated?”

He crushed the empty Panta bottle against his leg and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He was wearing a black long sleeve top, his left sleeve tugged up to his shoulder to allow for easier access to the wound. It was hard to tell through the dark color, but there seemed to be a few spots of blood on it as well as on his black jeans. He swung his legs back and forth under the makeshift gurney and you noticed his black and white checkered shoes, covered in dirt and more suspicious red spots. He shrugged. “I said no to water.”

You snorted, popping open your own soda. Before you could raise it to your lips he snatched it out of your hands, sending a few drops onto the floor around his feet and emptying it as easily as the last one. “Hey!” you protested.

He tossed the second empty bottle into the trash as well with indifference, ignoring your complaints. Your roommate was not going to be happy about the Panta cans in her sterile, medical trashcan. 

You furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance. “You could have just asked, you know.”

“Not as fun.” He shrugged. “I don’t even like Panta. Just wanted to piss you off.”

You gasped in fake surprise, placing a hand against your chest. It seemed to amuse him as a smirk grew across his lips.

Your roommate reemerged from the bathroom, her strides long and elegant as always. “Whatever he says, he’s probably lying.”

The boy pouted, looking at her with teary puppy dog eyes. “Wow, doc. I’m really hurt.”

You were surprised at how easily his emotions changed, fake tears sliding down his cheeks and then drying up as quickly as they came.

She huffed, dropping back into her place beside the gurney. “No, you’re not.” She pulled a box of gloves back out of her medical bag and slipped on a new pair. Turning back to you, she looked you up and down before sighing. “You really shouldn’t be in a sterile medical environment with filthy clothes.”

The boy snickered.

“My clothes are not filthy, thank you very much.” You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms tightly against your chest in embarrassment. “Also, this is my living room.”

“Not currently.” She grabbed the boy's arm despite his protests. Although she had a thin stature, she was quite strong when she wanted to be. She tugged on the gauze to double-check that it was properly secured. “For the time being it’s a hospital.”

You walked over and ruffled her hair. “Whatever you say, Miri.”

She smoothed down her hair and glared at you. “Not in front of a patient,” she hissed.

She didn’t like patients knowing her first name, but it seemed irrelevant to you. They could look up her last name anywhere and find where she worked- she was pretty well known after all. Keeping her full name a secret seemed like an unnecessary precaution for an inevitable end.

“Miriannaaaa,” you sang, spinning around the room lazily as you did.

She jerked around as if to grab you, but turned back to her patient with a harsh shake of her head instead, obviously thinking better of it. “You’re a bad influence,” she grumbled.

\---

You stumbled to the kitchen in the middle of the night, following the dim light of the moon streaming in through the windows as a guide. To your surprise, someone was already there.

The boy jumped at the sudden presence. “Oh. It’s you,” he mumbled, settling down at the realization. He was holding a bottle of grape Panta, leaning easily against the side of the fridge as he sipped at it.

“Well don’t be so excited,” you grumbled. You pushed him out of the way so you could open the fridge, his small figure making it easy. “She’s gonna be pissed that you drank another.”

He snickered as you realized that he’d not only drank another, but all of them. You stared slack-jawed at the empty drawer at the bottom of the fridge. 

“She’s gonna kill you,” you whispered. 

He didn’t seem to care, easily shrugging his shoulders and enjoying each sip he took of the last drink.

You smirked against your best judgment. She wouldn’t be fun to deal with when she found out, but it sure was funny now. Most times you were the only one bothering her and it was nice to witness it for a change. Besides, by the time she discovered the crime scene he'd likely be long gone, rendering her anger null.

“So what are you, her sibling?”

You didn’t realize you were staring blankly at the contents of the fridge until the boy’s voice snapped you out of your daze. The artificial light eerily highlighted his features, turning his pale skin almost translucent.

“Also, close the damn fridge. I’m cold.” 

You rolled your eyes but quickly grabbed the water you came for before shutting the fridge, shrouding the two of you in darkness. Somehow you could still see his purple eyes shining through.

“Not sibling, roommate,” you corrected.

He was silent for a few seconds, swirling the Panta around in its bottle to fill the empty air. “Didn’t think anyone except family would deal with randos in their house.”

“It keeps my life interesting, I guess.”

He didn’t say anything else, ceasing the swirling of his drink and therefore letting the silence between you fall heavily like a blanket. 

You cleared your throat. “What’s your name, anyway?”

He replied with a dark laugh that made your skin crawl with anxiety. Only seeing his purple orbs and nothing else through the black put you on edge. Maybe it was because you knew there was a reason this boy was here- people don’t just show up at Miriana’s after they trip and fall on the sidewalk. Something bad had happened to him, and for some reason, he wasn’t welcome at the hospital. You rolled the water bottle you'd grabbed between your palms, focusing on the prickling cold of the droplets it left on your skin.

He stepped closer, obviously sensing your unease. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because Miri will just tell me later.” You realized that you were whispering, whether to make sure you didn’t wake your roommate or because you were on edge you didn’t know. It was easier to feign confidence in the light when you could rely on your clothes and mannerisms and calculated eyebrow raises. Under the blanket of night, it was only your often wavering voice and continually shrinking presence.

“Who's to say she knows my real name?” He whispered. 

You thought it over for a second. 

Miriana’s whole thing was that she never asked questions. Typically her patients gave their names voluntarily, as well as the circumstances of their injury. She was friendly and welcoming and it was rare that someone felt she was untrustworthy. Most of the people she brought in were criminals and they trusted the fact that she herself was committing a crime in caring for them. Honor among thieves, or whatever.

You shrugged. “Most people just tell her. No reason not to.”

You couldn’t see his expression much in the dark but it seemed like he was scowling. 

“Well, I have one.” He chugged the rest of his Panta and tossed it into the trash can. His entire demeanor changed in a matter of seconds as he looked back up at you, his face brightening into an oversized smile. “Just call me Kichi!” 

You leaned your back against the counter behind you, completely forgetting about the water bottle still in your hands. “Cute.” You snickered. “I’m f/n l/n. Call me y/n, though.” 

He threw his hand out, making you jump before you realized he was asking for a handshake. You shook his hand tentatively, his cold skin sending shivers through your arm. His skin was just as soft as you imagined it to be.

“Pleasure talking to you, y/n, but I must be off. Important matters to attend to, evil organizations to lead.” He shrugged. “You know the drill.” 

You tilted your head in amusement as he grabbed a jacket off the back of a chair and threw it over his shoulders in an overly grand gesture. “Send your sister my gratitude… I guess.” 

The small boy slid out the door before you had a chance to respond, his jacket billowing behind him as a makeshift cape. 

You smiled softly, a bit sad that he was gone. 

You shook your head as soon as you caught yourself- you didn’t even know the guy. He said he led an evil organization, for god’s sake. 

That kind of stuff never seemed to bother you much, though. You were used to talking to Miri’s patients and listening to their stories. More often then not they opened up without much effort, probably because they’d never had anyone who wanted to listen before. But _you_ did. You asked questions and watched their faces intently as if to gain more analysis into who they were through their minuscule twitches and mostly hidden smiles. 

At least your psychology degree was coming in handy, somewhere.

You went back to bed. The water bottle was forgotten on the counter and waiting to be noticed by an annoyed Miriana in the morning, slowly adjusting to the room temperature instead of the chill of the fridge. 


	2. Self Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shuichi is a detective,” the girl says, nudging the blue-haired boy beside her. He seems embarrassed at the introduction, his cheeks turning a slight pink. “Well, he used to be.” 
> 
> You look at him, head tilted to the side in thought. So the outfit was intentional. He reminds you of Kichi, both walking caricatures of people rather than people themselves. “You leave for the same reason?”
> 
> He messes with the hem of his shirt, clearly nervous at having been put on the spot. “Kinda. I had a bad experience that ruined investigating for me.”
> 
> Your stomach sinks at the words. “Yeah. Same thing happened to me.”

You swung your legs over the side of the chair and nestled into the cushions. You flipped through your book to find the dog eared page, ignoring the chiming of the door to the shop signaling a customer. Most visitors during the Winter just slipped inside for a bit as a momentary break from the snowfall rather than to buy anything. The bookshop was warm and welcoming, and they walked between the shelves for a few minutes before leaving again to face the softly falling snowflakes.

You were a few pages deeper into your novel when the customers walked over. You watched them out of the corner of your eye until they got up the nerve to ask you whatever their question was.

It was a boy and a girl that looked to be about your age. The girl was a feminine blonde with a dusty pink skirt and white tights complimented by a blouse that hung easily off her shoulders in a darker shade of pink. Her hair was pinned out of her face with two decorative clips and she fiddled with them as she talked with the boy.

His color palette was more muted, dark blues and greys that made him blend into the background. A hat covered enough of his face to be intentional but strands of his dark blue hair peeked out from underneath. 

The pair talked in hush tones, eyes flickering to you every few seconds, and you closed your book in a huff as you realized they weren’t going to talk to you unless you talked first.

You put on your best customer service voice and swung your legs back to the front of the chair so your feet rested on the carpet. “Hey, guys! Is there anything I can help you with?”

The pair shared a knowing look before heading over.

The girl smiled and waved softly before she reached you. “We’re looking for a Psychology book,” she said, ceasing her fiddling with her hairpins and drawing her hands together in front of her. “On PTSD, specifically.”

You nodded for them to follow you and lead them to a back section of the bookshop. “We don’t really have a Psychology section but I should know where most of them are.” You trailed your fingers against the bookcases as you walk, eventually stopping in front of one that’s slightly larger than the others. You turn back to the pair. They both look slightly uneasy, and the boy's cap has been pulled further over his eyes. “Any specific book? General knowledge? Case studies?”

The girl glances at her counterpart but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge her. She sighs. “I guess we can take it from here, we’re not really sure what we’re looking for after all.”

You nod like you believe her. They’re clearly here for the boy but he’s too embarrassed to give any hints as to why. “No worries. If you need any more help, though, I have a degree in Psychology so I’m sure I can help.”

The girl takes the bait, her bright eyes lighting up in excitement. “Really? That’s super helpful, actually!”

The boy seems to have slightly opened up, his gaze shifting from the floor to you. You can finally see his light green eyes and you’re struck by the intelligence you see in them. You bite your lip, wondering if you should just spare him the task of telling you it's his problem and say it yourself. 

Before you can make any decision, he cuts off your thoughts. “What do you specialize in?”

You’re caught off guard by the question, not thinking he'd take any interest in you specifically but rather what you could do to help. “I don’t really practice anymore. But I did specialize in trauma.”

The boy taps a finger against his bottom lip in thought. “May I ask why you stopped? It’s just that you look really young.” 

You consider lying, but there’s something about the boy that tells you he’ll know. Maybe its the fact that he looks like an old-timey detective. You sigh. “The field is very dominated by money. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be.”

Not a full lie, but only a half-truth.

The girl presses her mouth into a line, her purple eyes downcast and heavy with something like fatigue. “That’s very sad.”

“Everything is like that now,” the boy mumbles, his voice barely audible. There’s something frail in the tone, something longing. 

“Shuichi is a detective,” the girl says, nudging the blue-haired boy beside her. He seems embarrassed at the introduction, his cheeks turning a slight pink. “Well, he used to be.” 

You look at him, head tilted to the side in thought. So the outfit was intentional. He reminds you of Kichi, both walking caricatures of people rather than people themselves. “You leave for the same reason?”

He messes with the hem of his shirt, clearly nervous at having been put on the spot. “Kinda. I had a bad experience that ruined investigating for me.”

Your stomach sinks at the words. “Yeah. Same thing happened to me.”

Silence fills the space between you three, so you gesture back to the bookcase. “Anyways, what were you guys looking for?”

The girl scans the books with a thoughtful look on her face. “Something about PTSD from tragic events. Maybe a sort of self-help book?”

You want to laugh at the words, but realize that she’s being genuine. You bite your lip. “I could get you something like that for general anxiety, maybe, but PTSD is a lot more nuanced. There’s not going to be anything about self-treatment.” You turn to the books and pull out one that you know covers the disorder well. “Here’s one that goes pretty in-depth into the causes and symptoms. If you’re looking for treatment, though, that’s a whole other conversation.”

They exchange nervous looks.

“You are, aren’t you?”

Shuichi started, “Well I-” 

“It’s a complicated story,” the girl said. She tucked her hair behind her ear gingerly. “C-can I ask you a question?”

You nodded. “All hypothetical, of course.”

She smiled in thanks before her expression turned back to being downcast. “What if someone went through a traumatic event, but they signed an agreement not to talk about it? To anyone?”

Your lips parted to answer, but you quickly closed them. It wasn’t fair for you to assume anything. You thought it over. “If they were desperate, the best course of action would be to find a therapist not working for a government-owned practice. That way they wouldn’t be obligated to report the breach in contract.” You sighed. “Even then, it’s hard to find trustworthy people nowadays.”

“They’re desperate,” Shuichi cut in the second you’d finished. His eyes widened at his outburst. “H-hypothetically.”

“Shuichi- that’s your name right?” You asked with a soft smile.

He nodded. “Shuichi Saihara.”

“Saihara, that bad experience I mentioned? I was hired for exactly that, except it was by the people who created the contract. I found out awful things but I wasn’t allowed to report them because of the non-disclosure agreement I signed before seeing the patients.” You leaned back against the bookcase and crossed your arms against your chest. “I felt so guilty that I quit. I couldn’t keep a secret like that again.”

The two exchanged a lingering glance.

“A non-disclosure agreement?” Saihara whispered.

There wasn’t anyone else in the shop so you didn’t know why he felt the need to be so quiet. You settled on nodding slowly to his whispering, waiting to see what his next move would be. 

“May I ask…” Kaede trailed off, biting her lip in apprehension. She looked up at you with her bright purple eyes, and you could find no bad intentions. 

You sighed. No one had ever cared about the details before, and judging by the looks on both of their faces, they had some sort of personal stake in this. “Come with me,” you muttered, nodding towards the back of the shop. You walked over with them close behind you, turning the sign on the front door to ‘closed’ on the way. 

You entered the small back room, a muddled scent of coffee beans and dust immediately filling your nose. It was meant to be a break room, back when the shop had more than one worker, but now it was more of a storage room for damaged books and cat food. There were still a few chairs leftover from its glory days, as well as a small table with a coffee maker that was the source of the smell. 

Kaede and Saihara moved two chairs closer together and took their seats, waiting with shaking hands as you shut the door to the room. Before you closed it, however, a small black cat slinked in with silent footsteps. You smiled at the welcome company and finished closing the door. 

“Oh!” Saihara exclaimed.

You took your own seat in front of the pair. “She likes you,” you mused, watching as the cat settled nicely into Saihara’s lap with a soft purr despite his apprehension. 

It settled any remaining nerves you had, knowing the cat would pick up on anything that you didn’t. Her taking so nicely to Saihara confirmed he could be trusted.

“So, Danganronpa?” You said, breaking the silence. 

They both flinched at the word, confirming your suspicion. 

“Y-yeah,” Saihara muttered, softly stroking the black cat in his lap. “So you recognized us?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What makes you think that?”

“Well you knew-”

You cut off the dark-haired boy. “Deduction, Saihara. I’m sure you’re quite familiar with that.”

He smiled. 

“I worked with Usami's season. I watched the show in preparation under the guise that they were actors. I mean, even actors can get traumatized from intense subject matter, so it made sense.” You focused on Saihara’s soft strokes of the cat's fur, trying not to fall back into old habits of emotion. “But of course, they weren’t. 

Kaede fiddled with the pins in her hair and you noticed that they were in the shape of music notes. “We were season 53.” She frowned. “They didn’t even bother with a therapist for us.”

You remembered the way you’d given them hell, planning meeting after meeting that ended with them giving you the same answer. You always left with sticky tears around your eyes and the heavy feeling of failure. “I guess I set a bad enough precedent.”

The pair didn’t respond, both of them lost in their own thoughts with glazed-over eyes. Saihara still ran his long, thin fingers absentmindedly over the cat’s fur. His face was mostly covered by his hat, but his worried expression was hard to miss. 

“You must be really struggling,” you said. 

It was easy to see that they were both once full of life. Even Shuichi with his timid demeanor had a vibrant personality underneath it all, you caught it in glimpses, between his fluttering eyelashes and frowning lips. Kaede was bright and hopeful, but she’d been broken down by something. Her eyelids were heavy with memories.

She let out a deep breath. “Yeah. We’re at a dead-end, I guess. We can’t get help and we can’t help ourselves.”

Shuichi and you were thinking the same thing. As you glanced up at him, your eyes met for the first time, and in them, you saw recognition. He didn’t want to ask, you didn’t want to say it. Something stirred deep inside your stomach, it was the kind of stirring that had made you get your degree in the first place. The desire to help people. 

You grew up hurting. Even after checking off most of the boxes for depression and anxiety, your parents didn’t want to medicate you, and they couldn’t afford continuous therapy. You started studying mental disorders to figure yourself out, it was an easy coping mechanism that helped you distance yourself from your own pain. Eventually that pain became numbness, and soon that numbness became an unfillable void. Studying was arguably the healthiest of your ways of coping- the others involving substances and things you didn’t like to talk about- and so you threw yourself into your classes. 

After undergrad, and graduate, and training- you were forced to come to terms with your own inabilities. Without the structure of college to cushion your fall, you were ultimately alone with your thoughts. You helped others, there was no doubt about that, but after a few failed cases and the danganronpa business, it felt like maybe you weren’t cut out for this after all. 

Maybe it really was impossible to keep others afloat while you drown. 

But things were better now, you were in a good place and had even considered going back to work as a regular therapist. This could be a start. 

“Maybe…” you trailed off, biting your lip in hesitation. “I can try to help.”

Kaede’s eyes widened. She clearly hadn’t entertained the idea as you and Shuichi had, but now that it was out in the open, you knew she wasn’t going to let it go. “You really don’t have to-”

“I want to,” you said, more confidence in your words then you actually felt. “I can’t prescribe you anything, but if it comes to that my roommate is a practicing doctor and would be more than happy to. I want to help you guys.”

Shuichi seemed apprehensive at the mention of someone else knowing the situation, but you tried to calm his worries before he had a chance to voice them. You smiled softly. “She won't care about the details. She trusts me.”

Shuichi seemed like he was still unsure, but with a small nod of his head, you knew that he was willing to trust you as well.

“We can’t thank you enough,” Kaede gushed, reaching over to grab your hands in hers. She squeezed them softly. “Really.”

You smiled, her hands were warm and soft and part of you didn’t want her to let go. It felt nice to receive such kind affection from someone, but with a faltering of your smile you realized that was just because of how touch starved you were. You squeezed her hands back before she let go. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s the least I can do.” You shrugged, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I can give you guys my number and we can talk about the details more but,” you nodded your head towards the front of the shop. “The owner will kill me if I keep us closed any longer.”

The three of you exchanged phone numbers before they left, Kaede showering you with more affectionate praise as well as a tight hug. Shuichi thanked you as well, but in his own reserved and quiet way. 

You turned the sign on the door back to open and settled once again into your cushiony chair in the corner. The black cat hopped onto your lap and you smiled, running your fingers through her fur and thankful for the quiet company she provided.

You had always gotten along better with animals than people. Being a psychiatrist created an easy relationship with clearly defined boundaries, but friendship was much more nuanced. It was in those nuances that you tripped and fell, every single time. You sighed, propping open your book on your knees as the cat purred happily against your stomach. You leaned forward and kissed her softly on the top of the head. 

Animals didn’t walk around you in circles with their unknown expectations. They did as they pleased and let you do the same. 

Maybe, just this once, things wouldn’t become a hot mess.


	3. Antiseptic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you lived somewhere, shouldn’t you have medical supplies?” You shrugged, pressing the button to start the coffee brewing. “You’re an interesting one, Kichi, but not completely unreadable.”

A knock on the door woke you up. With a groan, you rolled over to check the time on your phone and squinted as your eyes adjusted to the screen brightness. 

3:54 AM.

You sighed. The knocking persisted like a steady drum as you quickly changed into sweatpants and ran your fingers through your hair to smooth down any bed head before confronting the visitor. You were too tired to be scared, and so you opened the door without any hesitation.

The purple-haired boy stood in front of you with a frown. Blood was trailing down his face from a gash on his forehead. He used the back of his hand to wipe the liquid out of his eye, effectively smearing bright red over the entire right side of his face. 

“Is Miri here?” His voice was more solemn then last time and the defeat in it sent a pang through your heart.

You shook your head. “She’s on a work trip for the next few weeks.”

The boy didn’t respond before he quickly turned to leave.

“Wait,” you called, grabbing onto his sleeve. He turned back around with wide eyes, whether at the contact or the loud outburst you didn't know. “She’s trained me. I can help.”

It was a lie, but a small one. You’d watched so many procedures that you knew what to do at least for minor wounds. If he needed stitches that was iffy, but for his forehead, it looked like some antiseptic and bandages would be enough.

He smirked halfheartedly, the expression not reaching his eyes. His posture softened as you let go of his shirt. “And why should I trust you?”

You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the way so he could enter. “What am I gonna gain from killing you?”

He walked past you, flicking on the lights as he went. "I'm a super evil criminal so there's _plenty_ of bounties on my head. God knows you need the money to buy a better apartment!"

The sudden brightness made you squeeze your eyes shut to adjust and when you reopened them he was propped up on the couch and flipping through TV channels like he already lived here. Despite his comment about the apartment, he seemed quite comfortable nestled between the cushions.

You shut the front door and locked it before walking to Miriana’s room. It was a mess of medical supplies. She’d asked you to get things enough times that you knew where most things were (in general), but the order felt like it changed daily. Pills were in almost every drawer, meticulously labeled with every piece of information possible. You shuffled through the ones you knew were pain meds for some basic acetaminophen and grabbed a half-empty bottle.

The only part of her room free from supplies was the top of her bed, but even that was a mess of unfolded sheets and mismatched pillows. Your eyes scanned the hundreds of papers pinned or taped to her walls as you rolled the pill bottle between your hands- dosage amounts, anatomy sketches, case study results... Your gaze eventually landed on the corkboard above her dresser. It was covered in post-it notes and hastily ripped notebooks pages, thank you messages written in varying degrees of legibility. You smiled. 

People really did love her.

It took you a while to find the antiseptic and gauze (they were under her bed), but you eventually walked back to the living room with your arms full of medical supplies.

Kichi was watching a detective show that you happened to like, his feet easily propped up on the living room table and likely getting dirt all over it. You arranged the supplies on the side of the table not occupied by his checkered shoes and motioned for him to sit on the floor beside you.

“I don’t wanna,” he grumbled. His eyes never left the TV as he fiddled with the edges of his sleeves, tugging them over his hands and curling his fingers into a fist.

“Lieutenant James is the killer,” you said matter of factly, grabbing the damp washcloth you’d brought and once again motioning for him to head over. 

His face was one of betrayal. “How could you.”

You shrugged. “It’s a shitty episode. If you really wanna watch I have some better ones saved.” 

He walked over and crumpled to the ground beside you with a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he grumbled. 

You reached out to move his hair and he flinched away. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” you said softly. With a cringe, you realized how much you sounded like Miriana. You decided that she never had to know.

Although he seemed annoyed with your tone of voice he reluctantly scooted closer, dropping his head in his hands and staring at something in the distance. You attempted to pull his purple hair back into a ponytail for easier access to the cut but your shaky hands caused a few pieces to slide out and frame his face. With a heavy sigh, you undid the ponytail and restarted, making sure to keep everything out of his face this time. His messy hair was surprisingly soft and you noticed how the locks curled up at the end, somehow defying gravity. Before you thought his hair was all one shade, but now that you were closer you could see how his roots started off a dark purple, almost black, and the color faded to a brighter shade of violet as it reached the tip.

“What is this, a hair salon?”

You snorted and secured the hair tie. “Not my fault you’ve got long hair.”

The blood had stopped dripping but was smeared over half of his face and drying quickly. You grabbed the rag you’d dampened in the sink and softly wiped the sticky liquid off his skin. You hummed as you worked, an old song that you used to listen to in college when you were sad. As the blood disappeared, his pale skin came to your attention. His cheeks and under eyes were sunken in and the veins on his eyelids were clearly visible. 

You frowned.

“Earth to y/n, earth to y/n.” 

Kichi nudged you with his elbow and you jumped as you were brought back to reality. You’d zoned out at some point, the washcloth still pressed lightly against his face. “Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. 

“It’s alright, I know it’s easy to get lost in my beautiful eyes.” He batted his dark eyelashes. 

You ignored his comment for the time being and examined the now visible wound. It was a basic cut that he probably got from hitting the edge of a wall or something of the sort. There were small pieces of gravel in his hair to back up your theory.

“Actually, I was thinking about how malnourished you look.”

He tensed up at the words, but the hesitation was gone as quickly as it came and replaced by a mischievous smile. “I gotta keep myself thin so I can slide through small places- like prison bars!” 

“I think they’d put you in solitary confinement immediately,” you replied as you poured some antiseptic onto the cloth you were using. 

Tears welled up in his eyes. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You bit back a smile at his antics. “You must have a pretty shitty life then.” 

“Yup!” 

You sideyed him, taking notice of his exaggerated smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Of course not, dummy. That was a lie.” He held up a finger to his lips. “... maybe.”

“I’ll make you some food after this.” You cleaned the wound with the antiseptic and he barely winced. The cut wasn’t too bad so you decided to put a bandage over it and call it a day. “You’re good to go. It should heal pretty quickly.” 

You stood up without waiting for his response and walked to the kitchen. Shuffling through the groceries in the fridge, you pulled out a few vegetables and noodles to make a stir fry. Miriana was impossible when it came to chores, including cooking, so you’d had to learn to keep you two alive. You weren’t the best, but what you made was edible at the very least. You two settled on takeout most nights, anyway. 

Kichi was right behind you when you turned around, making you jump. He giggled like a little kid. “So you’re scared to be alone with a killer, huh?”

You pushed past him to grab a pot out of a cabinet. “I highly doubt you’ve killed anybody,” you mused, turning on the sink to fill the pot halfway with water. You put it on the stove to start boiling and set up a cutting board on the counter. “Even if you were you have no motive to kill me. Miri would be pissed, too.” 

He leaned on the counter beside you, watching as you meticulously cut the vegetables for the stir fry. He grabbed a piece of carrot and stuffed it in his mouth, speaking between chews. “I’ve killed _lots_ of people. That’s why I gotta come here.”

“Or maybe you’re just wanted for petty thievery?”

He scoffed in offense. “ _Excuse_ me?”

You bat his hand away as he reached for another carrot. “That’s why most people come here. They’re wanted for a minor crime and don’t wanna risk getting caught. It’s rare we have actual criminals.” 

“Well this is your lucky day!” he exclaimed, throwing up his arms and crossing them behind his head. He made the gesture look natural, though you doubted it was all that comfortable. “I’m an evil supreme leader, after all. My organization has over 10,000 members!”

You snickered. “Is that a lie?”

He stepped closer to you, leaning forward until his nose was almost touching your cheek. You felt his unnaturally cold breath on your skin. “That’s for you to figure out, y/n.”

Ignoring his attempts to unnerve you, you collected the vegetables and dropped them into the now boiling pot of water along with the noodles. It was late so you weren’t too hungry, but you could save the leftovers for later so you made a little more than you thought he would eat. 

“I want coffee,” he whined. 

You side-eyed him. “It's like 4 AM. You should be sleeping.”

“Evil supreme leaders don’t sleep, silly.” He pulled himself up onto the counter so he was sitting beside the coffee machine. 

As you left the food to cook and begrudgingly started preparing the coffee machine for him, an upsetting thought came to your head. “Do you have somewhere to live?” 

The flicker of uncomfort in his face came again, quick enough for you to convince yourself you imagined it. “I told you, idiot. I-”

“If you lived somewhere, shouldn’t you have medical supplies?” You shrugged, pressing the button to start the coffee brewing. “You’re an interesting one, Kichi, but not completely unreadable.” 

His expression turned to one of disdain. “So you think you know me, huh?”

You thought over your next words carefully, tapping your fingers against your leg. “No. I don’t.” You glanced at him and he was scowling at the coffee maker. You had to stop yourself from laughing. “Miri lets people stay sometimes if they need to get back on their feet. No questions asked.” 

That was a lie. One of her only rules was they could only stay for a day, nothing more. But, Miri wasn’t here right now, and something about the purple-haired boy and his incessant lying made you want to help him (and maybe figure him out along the way, though that was selfish reasoning). 

You shrugged. “This is me extending the offer.”

He kicked his feet back and forth, his heels sending a sharp bang through the kitchen every time they hit the cabinet he was sitting on. “It would be nice having a slave to make me food.” He tapped a finger against his chin in thought.

You were getting annoyed with the constant banging noise. Walking over to his spot on the counter you stopped in front of him and pressed your foot into one of his calves. It rendered that leg immobile, but he continued to kick the other one as if nothing had changed. “Can you _stop_ that,” you growled. You pushed harder against his calf, making him flinch. “Also, not your slave.”

“Really?” He mused, widening his eyes. He looked at you from behind the few pieces of hair that had already fallen into his face. “You’re doing things for me without pay, though. That’s slavery!”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your foot back to the ground. Coffee began dripping out of the machine, the earthy scent wafting through the kitchen. As it’s stream bubbled to a close, you grabbed the cup and placed it roughly beside him, a few drops spilling out onto the counter. “Do the milk and sugar yourself.”

You ignored his whiny complaints and checked on the food, giving it a few stirs before preparing bowls for the two of you. You grabbed your favorite wooden bowls from the cabinet, they had cute little pandas on them and you assumed Kichi would either love them or hate them. It was fine with you, either way. You spooned out the noodles into each bowl along with an equal amount of the vegetables, topping them with lemon juice and a few spices. 

Kichi was still fiddling with his coffee and making a mess of the counter, stirring an overly milky mixture with a spoon he’d found somewhere. You nodded towards the kitchen table, carrying the two bowls with accompanying silverware as the small boy hopped off the counter and followed behind you. 

He set down his coffee and licked the extra drops of it off of his fingers. You cringed.

“You act like you’ve never lived in a house before.”

He paused his finger-licking to look up at you with wide eyes. “What if I was an orphan raised by wolves! You’re so mean!” He whined shrilly as fake tears dripped out of the corner of his eyes.

You really wished he'd stop doing that.

“Wouldn't surprise me at this point.” You pushed the bowl closer to him. “Eat.”

The tears ceased as he picked up the panda bowl and held it to his nose, sniffing suspiciously. 

“You _literally_ watched me make it.”

He narrowed his eyes and sniffed again.

With a loud huff, you grabbed your chopsticks to twirl some noodles around them before bringing the food to your mouth. Kichi seemed satisfied that it wasn’t poisoned since you hadn’t died after a few seconds of eating, so he began messily digging into his own. 

You watched with interest as you slowly ate your own food, stealing glances at him between bites of noodles and vegetables. He devoured it without any restraint, finishing his bowl in the amount of time it took for you to eat about a third of yours. You knew your food wasn’t that good, so it wasn’t because of the taste. His thin body screamed malnourishment, so you continued refilling his bowl until he was too tired to continue.

You didn’t speak during dinner, the only conversation fleeting glances at each other over the panda bowls. 

After two noodle refills, he sipped at the last drops of his coffee as he watched you bring the bowls to the sink, dropping them in and not bothering to clean them at the moment. It was the middle of the night after all.

The excitement of an unexpected visitor had worn off and your eyelids were beginning to droop with fatigue. You slumped back into your chair.

“I’m gonna be really mad if that’s a slow working poison,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the table in thought.

You snorted. “We’d both be dead, then.”

“Maybe this was all an elaborate way to drag me into your suicide plan.” His eyes shot up to yours and they were practically filled with stars. You tilted your head, admiring their lilac color and the intense emotion they were able to hold- fake or otherwise. “Those panda bowls were pretty sketchy.”

So he did like them, you thought. Your lips curled up into a smug smile. 

His lithe fingers messed with the frayed edges of his sleeves again. You noticed the dried blood at the edges of some of his fingernails. “To answer your nosy questioning, my organization has _plenty_ of hideouts. I’m actually looking for another one in this city right now!” He tapped one of his fingers thoughtfully against his chin. “Though I guess it _would_ be nice to stay somewhere while I stake out the buildings.”

“That's why you keep getting beat up?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup! Everyone here is _super_ unfriendly.”

You wondered if it was better to call out the flaws in his argument or leave it alone in hopes he would stay. As he stared at you once again with his wide lilac eyes, soft pieces of hair falling in front of his face, you decided that you’d do quite anything to keep him safe.

“I’ll make up the couch for you.” You pushed out your chair and stood up, not waiting for his response as you walked to grab him pillows and blankets.

You had some spare blankets in your linen closet, but they were mostly itchy ones used to wrap up cold patients during the winter. Pressing your mouth into a line, you stared at the closet before deciding against any of them, quickly grabbing a pillow from the bottom and sliding the closet door closed. You had an overly fluffy grey blanket in your room that you barely ever used- it was more for decoration- and something inside you told you to grab that one instead.

You walked back into the living room with an armful of fluff to be met once again with your favorite detective show on the TV. Kichi was sitting cross-legged on the table, making you slightly nervous, but you knew he didn’t weigh enough to break it. You made up his bed on the couch as he continued to sit with his eyes glued to the screen.

“Good to go,” you said, smoothing down the blanket. He didn’t acknowledge you, so you tapped him on the shoulder. “Kichi?” He continued ignoring you. “Evil supreme leader?”

He spun around with a wide smile on his face. “Now that’s how I like to be addressed!”

You rolled your eyes. “You weren’t answering me,” you grumbled, gesturing lazily to the couch behind you. “There’s your bed, weirdo. I’m going to sleep.” You turned to go with half-closed eyes before he grabbed your wrist, tugging you back to where you were. 

He stared up at you with a frown. He’d taken out his ponytail and his purple hair fell around his face in long strands, curling easily up at the ends. “You aren’t gonna tuck me in?” He whined. His fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist, pale skin cold to the touch. 

You tilted your head to the side. “You’re actually serious?”

He smiled cheekily as an answer.

You parted your lips, half in exasperation and half in surprise, and a long silence fell over the two of you. Flickering your eyes to the couch, you sighed loudly before nodding. 

Letting out an excited giggle, he let go of your wrist and lept onto the couch from the table, feet never touching the ground. You realized he’d kicked off his shoes at some point as he slid his feet clad in purple socks under the blanket you’d left. 

To be honest, you didn’t know what he wanted you to do. 

He stared up at you with wide eyes, laying on his back with his head propped up against the pillow. You went ahead and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, cheeks already heating up in embarrassment. “There,” you said, purposefully avoiding his gaze as you stood up straight. “Tucked in.”

His mouth curled down in a frown and he tugged the blanket all the way up to his chin, the edges of the fluff tickling his skin. “No goodnight kiss?”

Your lips parted again as you felt your cheeks turn fully red. You could practically feel his excitement at having gotten a rise out of you, but you refused to meet his eyes. “N-no,” you stuttered out, much less sure then you’d intended it to be. “Night,” you muttered, quickly leaving the room and flicking off the lights before he had a chance to make any other comments.

You made it to the bathroom and shut the door behind you. You pressed the back of your hand against your cheek, feeling the intense heat that had somehow come out of such a short conversation. You couldn’t figure out why you’d even complied to his requests so easily. Maybe there was something about him that demanded compliance, he was a supposed leader after all, but after looking at his dark circles, his injuries, his emaciated frame hidden under a black long sleeve- it was clear that was an act of protection. A way to put up a wall between him and others, to raise his own being onto a high enough pedestal that he couldn’t be hurt. 

But you still get hurt, you wanted to say. It never really works, does it? 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Appointments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy held out his own hand with ease, tucking the other into his back pocket. You shook it with whatever confidence you had inside you, plastering the most genuine smile you could onto your face. His features were smooth and almost too attractive to be fair, and his bright green eyes drew you in like a beacon. Despite that, there was a tiredness in them that couldn’t be easily replicated. 
> 
> You knew he was the alumni before they told you.

You got off work a little after six and walked to the coffee shop you, Kaede, and Shuichi had agreed to meet at. It was apparently owned by another Danganronpa alumni from their season, making it a safe place to talk. You had already forgotten his name; meeting so many new people in such a short amount of time wasn’t usual for you. It was easier to identify everyone by something more concrete- like their hair color, or the sound of their laugh. Kaede was the blonde-girl with the childish giggle, her amethyst eyes sparkling despite whatever she felt internally. Shuichi was the dark-haired boy covered in muted shades of shadow, hiding a laugh you hadn’t heard yet but you imagined to be pleasant. 

How would this new addition fit into the mix, you wondered. 

You walked down the street as freezing wind prickled your nose, tousling your hair over your shoulders and weaving it into knots you’d have to fuss over in the shower later. You tugged your scarf higher over your face.

A bell chimed softly as you entered the shop, the cashier greeting you with a friendly smile. She looked to be a few years younger than you with light green hair that fell in loose curls over her shoulders. Her happy aura was infectious, and you smiled back before picking a table in the far corner of the shop. 

You opened your phone to let Kaede and Shuichi know that you were there before taking in your surroundings. There were only a few other customers scattered throughout the shop, sipping at coffee mugs and nibbling at pastries. You could view the different sweet varieties through the glass at the checkout counter, ornately detailed cakes and cupcakes, cheese and berry scones, rainbow macaroons... Your stomach grumbled at the sight of food, but you’d promised Kichi you’d pick up a pizza on the way home. 

Maybe you’d grab some cake for the both of you before you left, too. 

You watched with interest as someone else entered from the back of the shop, another worker in a black apron. He looked similar to the girl, green hair short and wavy. His eyes were a lime green, complimented by heavy, dark eyelashes that seemed too beautiful to be natural. Your gaze was immediately drawn to the silver piercings covering his ears and the minimalist line art on his arms. He laughed at something the girl said and you wanted to bottle up the noise. 

You tugged your gaze away. 

The door chimed a few minutes later and you looked up to see Shuichi and Kaede entering, their energy much more upbeat than when you’d seen them at the bookshop. 

Kaede was wearing a white dress with pink detailing and the skirt bounced as she walked towards you. She waved enthusiastically, her bright smile lighting up the shop. “Y/n! Sorry we kept you waiting!”

You pushed out your chair and walked to the pair, letting Kaede pull you easily into a tight embrace. “I haven’t been here long, no worries.”

Shuichi smiled shyly at you in greeting, tucking his hands into his pockets. He seemed to have more energy than he did before and his cheeks flushed a healthier color. He nodded towards the front of the shop where the cashier girl stood fiddling with a pile of receipts. “We’re gonna order coffee. Do you want something?”

You glanced at the menu hanging behind the counter, taking note of the tea varieties written on it in multicolored chalk. You nodded.

The three of you made small talk about the weather on your way to the front of the shop, stripping your various layers of scarves and jackets as you adjusted to the heating. The cashier greeted them by name like the trio were old friends, and you would’ve assumed her to be the alumni if she didn’t seem so young. 

Besides, she still had an innocent sparkle in her eye.

After you ordered your tea, Kaede ordered a vanilla latte with skim milk and Shuichi a black coffee (to the disdain of both of you). He insisted on paying for everyone despite your protests. Kaede seemed used to it, though she still put up a halfhearted fight. As you walked back to your table to wait for the orders, you wondered what the pair’s relationship was. 

After a few minutes, you glanced up to meet eyes with the green-haired boy. He carried the three drinks as well as a plate full of scones, placing them easily down on the table. 

“Rantaro!” Kaede cried, practically jumping on him with a bear hug. 

He chuckled, reciprocating the embrace and resting his chin on top of her head. “Hey, Kaede. It’s nice to see you guys again.”

To your surprise, Shuichi stood up as well. After Kaede reluctantly let go, he pulled the boy into his own hug.

You noticed they held on a few seconds longer. 

Kaede leaned over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Rantaro! This is our friend y/n,” she said, turning to face you with her signature smile on her lips. “Y/n, this is Rantaro Amami.”

The boy held out his own hand with ease, tucking the other into his back pocket. You shook it with whatever confidence you had inside you, plastering the most genuine smile you could onto your face. His features were smooth and almost too attractive to be fair, and his bright green eyes drew you in like a beacon. Despite that, there was a tiredness in them that couldn’t be easily replicated. 

You knew he was the alumni before they told you. 

Rantaro sat down with the three of you, grabbing a scone for himself as Kaede went over the basics of your relationship with Danganronpa. You learned that Kaede and Shuichi were apparently trying to bring together the rest of the alumni from their season, but besides Rantaro and a few others, most had either declined or couldn’t be found at all. 

Shuichi took a sip of his coffee, holding it gingerly with his pinky raised. “Kaede and I used to live a few cities over, but we moved here to be closer to the others,” he said, frowning slightly as his sentence trailed off.

“How many others are here?” You asked.

Rantaro wiped some crumbs off the table with the edge of his sleeve. “Not many. Maki and Kaito live on the other side of town, and Himiko and Tenko are close enough… but besides that, everyone else is mostly MIA.”

You nodded your head like you had any idea who he was talking about. 

Shuichi tapped his fingers against his coffee mug in thought. “We really want to find them. I think it would do everyone a lot of good to be back together, if only for a little bit.”

“So you just have no idea where they are?”

Rantaro shrugged, continuing to clean the table with the bottom of his sleeve in lazy, circular motions. “Some of them don’t want to be found," he said.

Kaede frowned at this, probably the first genuine frown you’d seen from her that day. She stared at her empty coffee cup, and without asking Rantaro picked it up and walked behind the front counter, likely to give her a refill. She yelled an enthusiastic “thanks!”, the frown effectively wiped off her face. 

“I know you don’t know the others, but some of us had, er, troublesome interactions in the game,” Shuichi said, rubbing the back of his neck as a worrisome crease formed between his eyebrows.

You smirked. “Like, they killed you?”

He laughed at this, effectively breaking the tension. “Not me specifically, but yeah I guess.”

Rantaro slid back into the seat next to you, handing Kaede her refilled coffee and placing another plate of pastries on top of the one you all had emptied. “Kaede killed me, ya know.”

She gasped loud enough for the whole shop to hear, swatting him on the shoulder before he had time to flinch away. 

You snickered. As much as you’d avoided watching any other Danganronpa seasons, therapy sessions with the pair wouldn’t be effective unless you knew the circumstances of their trauma. You frowned as you realized what you were doing that night. 

Rantaro went back to work after a few more minutes of conversation, his sister clocking out for a break. You watched him switch out his apron and tie it in a perfect knot behind his back with long, ring covered fingers. He caught you staring and winked.

You shot your gaze back to Kaede, cheeks heating up. She was either oblivious to your horror or pretended not to notice.

You were grateful either way.

“So…” Shuichi trailed off, hat covering whatever expression he was making.

With a huff, you leaned over the table and knocked it off his head. 

His eyes widened as he desperately tried to catch it before it hit the ground, frantically grabbing it and clutching it against his chest as you and Kaede laughed. He stared at you with questioning eyebrows.

As if you’d just betrayed him and his entire lineage.

You shrugged. “You look better without it.”

Kaede high fived you for this, nudging Shuichi and whispering _I told you so_ as his cheeks warmed up to bright pink. He placed the hat on the table beside him with shaking fingers.

You took a bite of one of the strawberry pastries, thinking as you chewed. “My apartment at this point is already a makeshift hospital, so, I was thinking we could just do sessions there?” You paused, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser on the far side of the table to place the remaining bites of your pastry on. “If that’s not too weird, I mean.”

“No, not at all!” Kaede exclaimed, waving her arms in the air excitedly. “We’re so happy you even want to help.”

“Again, no need to thank me,” you said. Your attention shifted as you felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. No one ever texted you, so you pulled it out with furrowed eyebrows. As the notification lit up your screen you had to hold back a smile

**Kichi (?)**

im hungry~ 

did u get shanked or something? 

You’d left your phone number on a post-it note that morning in case of emergencies, but apparently lack of dinner was considered adequate enough for your guest. You turned your phone over on the table without responding, figuring he could last another half hour.

“Sorry,” you muttered, scratching your cheek. “Anyways, normally I’d suggest a preliminary appointment to discuss your basic needs and figure out how many times a week we need to meet. Are you guys wanting to come together or?”

“Separate,” Shuichi said. 

Your phone buzzed again.

Kaede side-eyed her partner with pursed lips, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He cleared his throat as if looking for something else to say but you cut off his thoughts before he had the chance.

“That’s fine,” you rushed. “I was gonna suggest that anyways.”

Kaede’s expression softened, though the pout still remained on her lips. 

Doing joint therapy sessions was never all that productive, you’d discovered. Even when it came to family or relationship issues, they were at their core typically rooted in internal problems best solved alone. You couldn’t help but think that Shuichi would feel more comfortable one-on-one, his timid demeanor allowing himself to be talked over when Kaede was present. She had good intentions and cared about him, that was obvious, but she was too bubbly for her own good. 

“If that’s okay with you guys, we can go ahead and talk individually to set up times that work for each of you.”

Your phone buzzed again, somehow more aggressively this time. 

“You can take it, it’s alright,” Kaede said, smiling sweetly at you. 

You nodded and turned the device over, rolling your eyes at the caller ID before pressing accept. 

“Hello?” You grumbled. 

“Are you trying to kill me!” Kichi’s voice cried shrilly through the speaker.

You cringed at the sound and held the phone further away from your ear. “Um, not that I know of?”

Static filled the next few seconds as you tried to ignore Kaede’s curious expression.

His voice finally rang through the speaker again, much more serious this time. “I was promised pizza.” 

You snickered. “I’m like, half an hour late. Take a chill pill.”

He whined. Loudly. 

“You’ll survive. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

All you heard was the click of the call ending. 

Shuichi chuckled softly at your exasperated expression and tilted his head to the side. “Was that your roommate?”

You thought over your response. Was there any way to describe the situation that wasn’t, well, super weird? “My actual roommate is on a work trip right now, but I have a guest staying with me.” You bit your lip in thought, rolling it between your teeth. “He’s a little high maintenance.”

After a few more minutes of small talk and promising to text soon about the meeting times, you said your goodbyes to the pair. 

Deciding to make it up to Kichi for being late, you stopped by the counter on the way out to grab a piece of cake. Rantaro was still working, and he gave you a warm smile as you walked over. “Grabbing something for the way home?” 

“Kinda. I’m bringing something back for a friend.” You trailed your finger over the glass casing, scanning the variety of sweets in every flavor and color before stopping on a small purple cake topped with fruit. 

“That’s my sister’s favorite. It’s lemon blueberry.” Rantaro leaned over the counter, resting his head easily in his hands as he watched you contemplate your choice. 

You lifted your gaze to look at him, once again catching his eyes. They were brilliant, especially as they reflected the sunlight from the cafe windows. You smiled. “I’ll have some of that, I guess.”

He prepared two pieces of the cake for you, and as you watched him carefully cut them out it felt like you were committing a crime in asking him to destroy something so beautiful. A few of the blueberries tumbled off the top, and he made sure to put them back in their rightful place before sliding the glass casing closed again. He put the two slices in a dark blue cardboard box decorated with the cafe’s logo- the wheel of a ship- before pushing it towards you. 

You felt his touch lightly on your shoulder as you reached into your pocket for your wallet. “No worries, it’s on me,” he said, flashing you a smile. 

You tried your best to smile back naturally, but as you felt heat rise into your cheeks you just wanted to shove your head into the ground like an emu. Except you weren’t an emu, and even if you were, there wasn’t any sand. 

Maybe snow would work. 

You grabbed the box and thanked him profusely, probably too profusely to be socially acceptable, and then speed-walked out the door. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Frostbite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s the worst season, idiot!” He pulled his feet back onto the couch so he was sitting on his knees. The giggling was back before you even had a chance to mourn it. “Let’s watch Goodbye Despair! Everyone knows that’s the best!” He’d apparently gotten familiar with the TV while you were gone, clicking through the menu to get to a streaming service that had all the seasons.

When you got home that night you found your guest with his body strewn across the couch, a few more pillows then you left him with propping up his head (pillows in an eerily familiar shade of grey, to be specific). The fuzzy blanket hung limply off his legs as he stared at whatever nonsense was playing on TV.

Purple eyes lazily shifted to you as you kicked the door shut behind you. “Finally decided to feed me huh?” He grumbled, kicking off the blanket and shifting himself to sit on top of crossed legs. He pulled one of the pillows into his lap, a muted grey square with a minimalistic cat face on it. 

You frowned as you realized it was from your bed. Deciding to ignore that fact for the time being, you carefully set down the pizza and box of cake onto the living room table. A small movement on Kichi’s shoulder caught your eye, and as the source came into view, you don’t know why you ever thought he would be a well-behaved house guest. 

As if on his own personal throne, your pet bearded dragon perched on the small boy’s shoulder, his tongue contently sticking out of his mouth. Your eyes shifted to the half-eaten plate of peppers on the far side of the couch. 

You scrunched your eyebrows together. “Why do you have Muffin?” You asked.

The question immediately lit up Kichi’s face, likely with the sheer oddity of it. “Muffin? I don’t know what you're talking about, I only know the ultra-evil-dragon-dictator!” Kichi gently stroked the top of the lizard’s head with the tips of his fingers. “Dic for short, I guess.”

You spluttered at the nickname. “No! Absolutely not.” 

Kichi's smile widened. You wondered how long he’d been waiting to see your reaction to this- maybe that was why he was so desperate for you to get home, considering he hadn’t touched the food yet and he was _oh so starving_ just minutes ago. “You like my name better, right Dic?” Kichi continued stroking the lizard and looked at him as if waiting for confirmation. The slow blink of the animal’s yellow eyes that followed was taken as an apparent answer. “See! He thinks it’s _much_ cooler.”

After the initial shock of seeing your pet perched on your guest’s shoulder, you realized the only way he could've gotten there in the first place. The pillows of your bed haphazardly scattered across the couch confirmed your theory. You narrowed your eyes. “Why were you in my room, Kichi?” 

“I was snooping obviously!” The purple-haired boy giggled as he gently picked up the bearded dragon and placed him on one of the couch cushions. He grabbed the box of pizza and flung it open, snagging the biggest piece. 

You rolled your eyes and walked over to where Muffin was, gingerly picking him up and bringing him back to his cage. By the time you got back, Kichi had already eaten three of the pieces of pizza. (So maybe it _wasn’t_ the unignorable need to tease you that prompted him to call, you thought.) You moved a few of the pillows to clear a space for you to sit and sank down into the cushions. 

Kichi glared at how close you were to him, but it was his fault for making the couch a mess of blankets, pillows, and Panta cans. 

You ignored the heavy gaze.

Kichi finished scarfing down his third piece and immediately lunged for another, but you nudged him with your elbow before he had a chance to begin. “Slow down, we have cake, too,” you said. You grabbed your own piece of pizza, the smell of cheese and garlic immediately making your mouth water. It was cooled down from the walk home in the freezing weather, but neither of you seemed to mind. Pizza was pizza, after all.

“Wow! I hate cake!” He exclaimed, a bright smile on his face. 

You nodded towards the small plate of peppers on the other side of the couch. They were messily chopped into squares, the handiwork resembling a child with no clue how to use a knife. “Did you feed those to Muffin?”

He nodded proudly, a mouth full of cheese and crust. “Yup!” 

You cringed as he spoke through chews.

“Google said dragons like peppers, and you had some, so I tried to feed them to Dic. He was _super_ ungrateful though and only ate, like, half!”

You snorted. “Well, he’s small. He’s not supposed to eat that much.”

“But I went through all that effort!” Kichi glared at the half-eaten plate of peppers. 

The flush of your cheeks was getting too warm to ignore, so you turned away from the boy, trying your best to hide your burning face with your hair. You took another bite of the pizza and chewed slowly. 

Part of you was pissed that he’d gone into your room (he’d stolen your pillows and everything!) The other part of you, the part of you that was slowly but surely growing, was endeared with his treatment of your pet (and you had to admit, the lizard was your best friend as well). He’d kept the little animal company and went through the trouble of researching foods he’d safely like, and you had to stop yourself from smiling as you imagined him shuffling through the groceries in your fridge, smiling brightly as he finally found a pepper, and standing on his tippy toes as he cut it into little cubes with his tongue between his teeth in concentration. 

“What are you smiling about?” 

You jumped as you realized he’d leaned over you, your faces inches apart. You didn’t have long to relish in the closeness, however, since the moment he was satisfied with your reaction he pulled away. (Okay, so you hadn’t done a good enough job of hiding your smile. Big deal.

What harm was there in telling the truth?)

“I have to admit I’m kind of pissed at you for snooping,” you put your half-eaten piece of pizza back into the box on your side, grabbing a napkin to clean off your fingertips. You wiped them diligently as you thought over your next words. “But, thank you for taking care of Muffin. That was really sweet.”

“Blegh!” Kichi purposefully scooted away from you, sticking his tongue out like a child. “I hate thank yous! Take it back!”

You shook your head, smiling. As your attention went to your journal in your bedside table, however, the smile faltered. “Please tell me you didn’t do _too_ much snooping,” you mumbled.

He shrugged. “Don’t worry, I mostly got distracted after seeing Dic’s cage. It’s nicer than my own house!”

Your cage for the bearded dragon was the standard size for three or more of them, and filled with plenty of hiding places and colored heat lamps. A floral lanyard decorated the outside of it, shades of blue and pink standing out against the monochrome of the rest of your room. Muffin’s cage was definitely the centerpiece, and you didn’t doubt that Kichi got immediately distracted by it. Still, you made a mental note to move the Journal’s hiding place under your bed.

You sideyed him with a smirk. “You don’t have a house.”

He held up a finger to his lips. “That’s what I want you to think.”

You stood up to grab forks from the kitchen, walking back and handing one to Kichi along with the box of cake. He opened it slower then he did the pizza, thankfully, and the edge of his lips twitched with a smile. 

You rested your head in your hands, holding your own fork between your fingers. Your cheeks were much warmer than usual. “I didn’t know what kind you’d like, so.” You shrugged. 

He placed the box in his lap and stabbed into one of the pieces, a few blueberries spilling onto the floor. He brought the cake to his mouth and chewed slowly, staring into the distance with a blank expression. 

You hummed in question. 

He swallowed loudly and tapped the fork against his bottom lip, the prongs making small indentations on the soft skin. “Disgusting!”

You rolled your eyes and reached over, cutting out a small bite and bringing it to your mouth. 

Kichi was definitely lying- the cake was amazing. You’d have to go back and thank Amami sometime. The lemon buttercream icing had a slight tang that complemented the airy blueberry of the batter, the duo forming a sweet yet sour confection that melted in your mouth. Considering Kichi had already excitedly stabbed a few more bites and was halfway done with his own piece, you assumed he liked it as well despite his protests to the contrary. 

As you both finished off the desert, you placed the empty cake box back onto the table, resting the forks on top of it to remember to wash them later. 

The silence in the air was short-lived. 

“So, tell me alllllll about your day,” Kichi sung, tugging on your shirt sleeve. 

You leaned back against the couch cushions and crossed your arms against your chest, trying your best to nudge his hand away. “I find it hard to believe you actually want to hear about my boring life.”

“Of course I don’t, silly.” He scoffed, ceasing the tugging. “I’m just gathering information. Plus, I wanna know what could _possibly_ be more important than spending time with me!”

You raised an eyebrow. “I was at work.”

“Nu-uh!” He shifted his position to be more comfortable, uncrossing his legs and sticking them out to rest against the table. “You can’t answer your phone at work, dummy.”

You doubted anyone at the bookshop would care if you took a phone call, but decided to humor him anyway. He was right after all, even if his reasoning was wrong. “I got off work early and went to meet some… friends,” you trailed off, biting your lip.

“You sound super confident about that answer! I totally believe you!” 

“Okay, okay,” you grumbled. “I’m a therapist. I was having a meeting with two prospective patients.”

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re a therapist?”

You nodded, albeit softly. 

“What a coincidence, I totally need therapy!” He crossed his arms behind his head and rested them against the back of the couch. His chin was tilted towards the ceiling and he beamed brightly at it as if he was looking at a beautiful night sky full of stars instead of your white popcorn roof.

You snorted. “Yeah, me too.”

You got a concerned eyebrow raise in response. 

“Anyways,” you mumbled, rubbing your arm with discomfort before standing up. Without your added weight Kichi sank further into the cushions, practically enveloped in them. 

You stacked the two empty boxes along with the dirty forks to bring them to the kitchen. “I have to watch this TV show for my patients that I really don’t want to watch, so I’m gonna get a move on that.” You walked over to the kitchen, dunking the empty boxes into the trash on the way. It was piling up, and you made a mental note to take it out tomorrow.

“What show, hm?” Kichi called from the couch, already turning the TV back on and scrolling through the channels. 

You frowned. “Like I said, I don’t wanna watch it.”

“Yeah but you’re boring, meaning it’s probably super cool!”

Not the most solid logic, you thought. 

You tossed the forks into the also piling dishes and walked back into the living room, staring absentmindedly at the old cartoon playing on tv. It was of a few clowns playing pranks, their makeup and clothing exaggerated. You couldn’t help but think it suited him, especially as one of the clowns pulled a pie out of his hat and nailed someone in the face.

Kichi giggled.

Too caught up in smiling at how cute his laugh was, you let the answer slip from your mouth without a second thought. “Danganronpa 53.”

The giggling stopped, the boy's face now devoid of emotion as he watched the mischievous clowns continue to harass passersby. “ _No_ ,” he yelled, the sound echoing through the apartment.

Your lips parted in shock. He’d never gotten genuinely angry before, everything seemed to be too much of a joke for him to be bothered by it. Most people had a strong reaction to the show, but his face had gone pale at your mentioning, his usually steady fingers twitching against the remote. 

“What?” You managed to squeak out. 

“That’s the worst season, idiot!” He pulled his feet back onto the couch so he was sitting on his knees. The giggling was back before you even had a chance to mourn it. “Let’s watch Goodbye Despair! Everyone knows that’s the _best_!” He’d apparently gotten familiar with the TV while you were gone, clicking through the menu to get to a streaming service that had all the seasons.

It was your turn to protest. “No, no, no.” You grabbed the remote out of his hand before he had a chance to react and held it behind your back. “The only reason I’m watching is for my patients. Believe me, I hate it. They want me to watch 53 so,” you said, frowning. 

Remembering Goodbye Despair made your throat burn.

You noticed the fear flickering in his eyes like a cornered animal. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he said, the word tumbling out of his mouth in a frantic haze. His eyes looked straight into you, a gaze intense enough to make your skin crawl. 

You sighed. “I have-”

He sprinted towards the door, ducking under your outstretched arm and slamming it behind him before you even had a chance to turn around. By the time you’d run outside to follow him, the purple-haired boy was nowhere in sight. You took the stairs three at a time, making it to the lobby just as the door swung closed behind him. It was dark out, and he was fast- but you left the apartment complex anyways. The fact that you hadn’t bothered to lock your door lingered in the back of your mind.

Snowflakes fell from the sky, swaying in the breeze till their eventual death on the concrete floor. You stepped over small piles of slush with your boots, wrapping your arms around your body as you shivered. The small jacket you’d been wearing earlier wasn’t nearly enough now that the temperature had dropped even further. 

Kichi didn’t even have a jacket, and that simple thought kept you walking through the alleyways for hours. 

When you got back to the apartment your fingers were practically frozen in place. You flexed them painfully before turning up the thermostat. Your teeth clacked together as you walked to the kitchen with the intent to make a cup of hot tea, a note on the counter catching your eye. It was written on the back of the post-it note you’d left earlier with your number. 

**_Sorry not sorry for the quick departure- couldn’t risk getting strangled! Or psychoanalyzed, whichever came first. You’ll see what I mean in a bit._ **

**_-K_ **

**_P.S Take care of Dic for me!_ **

You ran your fingers against the note with a frown. 

So he really was gone.

After a quick rundown of your apartment, you found he’d taken a decent amount- an old backpack from your closet, one of your leather jackets along with a scarf and hat, food and drinks from the pantry, all of the cash in your wallet, and some toiletries from the bathroom. 

Those toiletries included your favorite hairbrush, which was a shame. 

You figured he’d taken some medicine and bandaids too, but Miri’s supply was so crowded there was no way for you to tell. She’d know, however, and you knew you had absolute hell to pay when she came back. 

The last stop on your search was your bedside table, and your stomach dropped as you opened it to find the drawer containing only a ripped sheet of paper instead of your journal. The note was scribbled with the same messy handwriting as the one on the counter.

**_I never took you to be so interesting y/n!_ **

**_Addiction??? I mean, even I’m not that bad!_ **

**_I hope you don’t mind, I’ll be taking this for some light reading on the road._ **

**_-K_ **

You crumpled up the ripped out journal page into a ball in your hand.


	6. Guts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You pulled out your earbuds and let them fall into your lap. The scene continued playing even if you couldn’t hear the sound and you watched with wide eyes as the boy was crushed into a pulp of indistinguishable guts and bones. Your screen was a blur of pink blood before you slammed it shut, breathing shallow and labored. A few minutes passed before your eyes refocused and the world came back into perspective. 
> 
> You wondered what it felt like to die.

**_3 Outgoing Calls_ **

**3:21 AM: Kichi please come back. I’m not going to hurt you… I just want to help.**

**3:23 AM: That’s not enough food/ money for more than a week. You know that.**

**4:02 AM: Can we please talk?**

**_2 Outgoing Calls_ **

**4:47 AM: I know more than you think I do.**

**4:50 AM: Please just let me explain myself… If you read my journal you should at** **least know I don’t have bad intentions?**

**5:11 AM: I know it’s real.**

**8:00 AM: Did you watch?**

\---

You propped your laptop onto your folded legs, your soft comforter draped over them and pulled up to your chest. The little kid in you thought that maybe if you buried yourself deep enough in the pile of blankets any problems in your life couldn't get to you anymore, like monsters under the bed easily deterred by any sort of flimsy barrier constructed by children. The rest of you knew that even if you pulled them all the way over your head the bright pink Danganronpa logo would still be staring back at you. Rubbing your puffy eyes with the back of your hand, you scrolled through the available seasons on the screen. You took a second to glance at the one you'd seen before, the promo picture showing Hajime Hinata and Nagito Komaeda standing side by side in front of an eerily dark beach. 

Nagito Komaeda. Now that was someone convoluted enough to give Kichi a run for his money. 

You pulled yourself away from the memories for the moment and scrolled down to season 53, the promo picture showing five mechanical bears typical of the show instead of any contestants. Must have wanted to keep the mystery of the cast a secret as long as possible. After a few seconds of hesitation, you clicked begin. 

As you sipped at the mug of bitter coffee in your hands, you watched the show's contestants pop up on the screen one by one. 

Shuichi was first- his hair a slightly brighter shade of blue but besides that looking the same as he did now. He had another hat pulled mostly over his eyes, the camera focusing in on the one green iris that could be seen. Animated designs of magnifying glasses, fingerprints, and caution tape floated behind him. The words “Shuichi Saihara- Ultimate Detective” flashed across the screen in bold lettering. He smiled shyly, and the intro moved on. 

A few other contestants passed by- names you didn’t recognize from any conversations so far. Miu Iruma, Kirumi Tojo, Gonta Gokuhara… You tried to commit their ultimates to memory in case they came up in conversation. 

Kaede’s bright smile and golden hair came into view, the words “Kaede Akamatsu- Ultimate Pianist” in delicate, cursive handwriting floating across the bottom of the screen. Sheets of music covered the background, tumbling over each other until their eventual disappearance. Her outfit was similar to the ones she wore now except dotted with music notes. You remembered the hairpins she was wearing when you first met, and you wondered if she still played piano at all anymore or if they were just to remind her of bittersweet memories.

Korekiyo Shinguji, Angie Yonaga, Tsumugi Shirogani… With a huff, you paused the show and crawled out of bed to grab a pen and paper from Miriani’s room. 

Shuffling back into your comfortable position under the covers, you moved the computer to the side so you could prop the clipboard with paper onto your lap. You rewinded the intro and scribbled down notes about the contestants you’d already seen.

“Rantaro Amami- Ultimate ???” lit up the screen in a shade of forest green. You frowned at the question marks. It was like Hajime… Your stomach flipped.

You didn’t know if you could handle doing this all over again. 

Rantaro didn’t have his tattoos in the show, nor did he have his nose piercing. If you ever got the chance, you’d tell him that they looked good. He looked less like a pretty boy that would hook up with your girlfriend now. (Key word _less_.) 

You sipped your coffee and grimaced at the taste, making a quick mental note to buy more sugar. Kaito Momota, Maki Harukawa, Himiko Yumeno, Tenko Chabashira… those names sounded familiar. They were the ones that Amami said lived nearby, and you quickly scribbled that down in your notes. You also added the fact that he’d mentioned them as pairs, a fact that would probably come up in the show later as the contestants started getting closer.

That was your least favorite part of the show- the fact that every aspect of the contestant's relationships were recorded for everyone to see. They even had bonus scenes from time to time of specific characters interacting, more often than not ones that were romantically involved. They'd hold online polls of which pairings the viewers wanted to see, manipulating the plot to get the winners of them to interact more. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

You remembered to dumpster pile of a mess that was Sonia and Kazuichi. 

Next was “K1-B0- Ultimate Robot”, someone that immediately piqued your attention. Did they really have the technology to create a lifelike AI? Considering everything else they’d done, you figured it wasn't too far fetched. Still, as you watched the code of endless numbers behind him (it was a him right? Maybe they should start putting pronouns in the intro segments…) you couldn’t help but wonder if he was really a robot at all, or just a regular person with enough fake memories shoved in their head to convince themselves they were. 

You scribbled your assumptions down on your clipboard as the next contestant flashed across the screen. By the time you finished writing, the image of Ryoma Hoshi faded away and was replaced with what you’d counted to be the last person. “Kokichi Ouma- Ultimate Supreme Leader” was a small boy with purple hair that curled up at the tips, bright lilac eyes screaming mischief. 

Huh. So that was why. 

Dice, clown masks, and Panta cans spiraled in lazy circles behind him. 

You paused the show with a frown. 

Part of you wanted to laugh as to how unbelievably entangled your life was with the gruesome reality show. At this point, you were surprised you hadn’t been kidnapped to participate just to complete the cycle. “Y/N- Ultimate Psychiatrist.” You laughed at the image, wondering what little doodles they could possibly put as your background. A brain? Pavlov’s tortured dogs?

Pills?

You wrote down notes about Kichi- er, Kokichi- before hesitantly pressing play again. 

After the third episode and five pages of notes, you checked your clock to realize that you were already late for work. With a groan, you shut the laptop more harshly than necessary and grabbed a comfortable outfit to change into after your shower. 

Your hair was still dripping with water when you walked into the bookshop, the bell on the door chiming as you entered. Your boss stood at the register with crossed arms.

“Sorry,” you squeaked.

He shook his head and sighed. “You’re lucky I don’t have a class till 12.” He walked around the front desk to stand in front of you, placing the back of his hand gently against your forehead with a frown. “You look like hell.”

You swatted his hand away. “I’m fine,” you grumbled, the words holding much less malice then you intended.

“You’re never late. I was worried about you.” He walked behind you to grab your coat and you let him slide it off your shoulders, bringing it to the coat rack by the front door before switching it out for his own. He pulled his arms through it, a concerned crease between his eyebrows all the while. 

The expression seemed to say- _You’re never late, except for that one time you didn’t show up for two days and I found you half dead in your bathroom._

Hah. Yeah. 

“I just couldn’t sleep last night,” you reassured him, making your way around the desk to take his spot at the register. You busied yourself with organizing the receipts from the few people who had stopped by before you got there. Your boss, Christian, hated dealing with customers, and you smirked at the thought of him having to ring them up this early in the morning. He had a perpetually annoyed face that made people scared of talking to him, but you knew the guy was harmless. He was a middle-aged college professor with more money then he knew what to do with, and an awful fondness for cats. The bookshop was his, but he only worked on the off occasion that you weren't available and he didn't have any classes to teach. (Which was, well, never. What better things did you have to do, anyway?

Also, he always had class.)

He grabbed his scarf off the coat rack and wrapped it around his neck. It was a hot pink that clashed with his yellow jacket and clashed even more with his crocodile print shoes. “I thought you always slept like a baby?”

You scratched your cheek, closing the container for recent receipts with a loud pop. “There’s just been a lot going on, I guess.” You were willing to leave it at that, but he stood firmly by the door with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, waiting for you to elaborate. You sighed. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

He pursed his lips like an exasperated mother. (It wasn't far from the truth, honestly.) “I trust you to make the right decisions, alright?”

You snorted. “I don’t know if _that’s_ the best course of action. But-”

“Y/n.”

“Okay, okay.” You held up your hands in surrender. “You can trust me.”

Not nearly satisfied with your answer but in too much of a hurry to continue pestering you, Christian tightened his scarf and nodded with an air of finality before leaving. 

After a few minutes of an empty shop, you left your place behind the register to slump into the chair in the back corner as usual. Instead of grabbing the recent book you were reading, you pulled your computer and headphones out of your backpack to continue Danganronpa. 

\---

"Oh, I'm just the supreme leader of an evil secret organization. That's all. I gotta say, it's pretty impressive. My organization has over 10,000 members!"

"You guys talk about cooperation and teamwork, but you're all afraid. You're too scared to point your fingers at others, so you hide behind the word, ‘trust’.”

"I don't care anymore... But, I will tell you this... The one who will win this game...is me."

“You’re alone, Kokichi. And you always will be.”

You pulled out your earbuds and let them fall into your lap. The scene continued playing even if you couldn’t hear the sound and you watched with wide eyes as the boy was crushed into a pulp of indistinguishable guts and bones. Your screen was a blur of pink blood before you slammed it shut, breathing shallow and labored. A few minutes passed before your eyes refocused and the world came back into perspective. 

You wondered what it felt like to die. 

Something wet dripped onto your computer and with a startled jump, you realized that you were crying. You hastily wiped away the tears with the back of your hand before stuffing the device into your backpack. 

You did the breathing exercise you used to use for your patients having panic attacks. _Breathe in for five, hold for three, breathe out for five._ You continue the counting until the knot in your chest loosened. 

You wondered what it felt like to die knowing everyone hated you.

The bookshop closed a few hours later and you turned off the lights before locking the door, your fingers shaking for more reasons than just the cold. Your original intention was to go straight home, but the bell was chiming to Rantaro’s coffee shop before you realized where your feet were walking.

He looked up from his phone and smiled at you from behind the register. “Y/n! Nice to see you again.” 

You nodded and forced a smile of your own. “Yeah. You too.”

“How was the cake?”

You untangled your scarf so it was just draped over the back of your neck. “It was amazing, actually. Your sister’s a great baker.”

“I’ll make sure to tell her that.” His gaze lingered on your face long enough for you to be uncomfortable. 

Fuck your perpetually puffy eyes. 

“Hey, uh,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you ever gonna watch 53?”

You focused your attention on the new pastries, a pink and blue cake with floral decoration catching your eye. “I did. Watch it, I mean,” you mumbled. 

“So that’s why you look like you’ve lost your will to live?”

You snickered. “That’s one way to put it.”

Rantaro nodded softly, biting his bottom lip in thought. “How about another free cake for your troubles?”

“I really don’t-”

“Nu-uh,” he cut you off, placing a finger against his lips as a signal for you to be quiet. “Same tea you had last time?”

You frowned, and then nodded.

The shop was empty besides the two of you and a few minutes later you found yourself sitting across from the green-haired boy in one of the front booths, a cup of hot tea between your hands and a plate of the pastel frosted cake in front of you. 

Rantaro had a drink of his own this time, a mug of chai with warm milk, and he dunked the teabag lazily as he listened to you talk about your thoughts. You’d hoped he’d drop the show and distract you with something else, but it probably wasn’t often he got to hear the opinion of someone that wasn’t brainwashed with it being falsified or overly obsessed with him- you'd discovered after some quick internet research for your notes that he was one of the most popular contestants. (Remembering some of the fan art you'd seen, you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.)

You told him seeing the dead bodies made you sick. You told him he deserved a better storyline. You told him you personally wanted to curb stomp Tsumugi Shirogani. You told him you liked his new piercings. 

You told him seeing Kokichi Ouma die was the only time you cried.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, setting his now-empty cup of chai on the table.

“Everyone treated him like the villain.” You drew imaginary circles in the palm of your hand, furrowing your eyebrows. “And he wasn’t. He tried harder than anyone else to end it.”

“Even harder than Shuichi?”

You paused the steady movement of your finger to look up at the boy. He didn’t seem accusing, so you nodded slowly. 

Rantaro sighed. “I’ve tried really hard to find him. I’m starting to think DICE actually does exist, I don’t know how else he could hide himself so well.”

“So you don’t hate him?” You asked.

The question seemed to catch him off guard, his typically relaxed energy tensing up for the first time since you’d met him. “No. I don’t.”

“And Kaede and Saihara?”

You didn’t know why you were pushing for things you probably didn’t have a right to know. Maybe because underneath his nonchalant demeanor, Rantaro seemed desperate to get his feelings out into the open. Maybe because it was just the way you were built to press for answers, even if no one wanted to give them. 

Maybe because _Kokichi_ didn’t seem like a word that was said quite often enough among the trio.

The green-haired boy seemed to be struggling internally, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck and frowning. “Shuichi wants to find him, too. He does.” 

You raised an eyebrow.

“Kaede… well. She thinks if he wants to be alone we should leave him be.”

You picked up your fork, remembering the cake in front of you, and carved out a bite-sized piece. It was just as good as the last one, but you couldn’t help but wish you were sharing it with someone else. 

Someone who’d scrunch up his nose and call it gaudy before smiling with a mouthful of frosting.

You swallowed and pushed some of the edible flowers around on the plate absentmindedly. “I’m assuming she doesn’t hold that same sentiment for the others?” You asked pointedly. 

Rantaro opened his mouth to say something before quickly closing it. He settled on nodding.

The sun had long since set and the artificial lights of the shop flickered above you. The streets were vacant at this point, leaving the windows empty of passerby. 

“Hey, it’s getting pretty late to be walking home alone,” Rantaro said, brushing a piece of hair behind his ear that promptly fell back into place. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

You shrugged. “Sure. I’ll just pretend not to be offended that you think I can’t take someone in a fight.”

He laughed and started picking up the table, stacking your cups on top of each other and holding the plate of cake in the other hand. “I gotta close up but it shouldn’t take long." 

You nodded in confirmation before he walked away. 

You pulled out your phone.

**Yes, I watched it. Well, most of it. I stopped after episode 15 bc I couldn’t do it anymore.**

To your surprise, you got a text back before Rantaro had even finished.

**ep 15? Whats dat?**

**Ya know ,, Hydraulic press. Trauma. Blood.**

**I have NO idea wht ur talking abt, but it sounds super cool!**

**Can we please talk? Like in person?**

**I have some things I think you’d like to know**

**Hmmmmm lemme think abt that**

**...**

**..**

**...**

**No**

**Kichi.**

**Shouldn’t u call me Kokichi now?**

**You told me to call you Kichi, so that’s what I’ll call you until you tell me otherwise.**

**Geeze, u dont gotta be so polite!**

**I stole from u! Be angry! Grrrrr!**

**You needed that stuff more than I did. That was just emergency cash, nothing too crazy.**

**Though I have to ask- did u take anything from Miriana?**

**I can't believe youd accuse me of something so awful! And here I thought we were friends!**

**But yeah**

**Alright**

**But anyways I just want to tell you**

**Uhm**

**Spit it out**

**I don’t have all day, you know**

**Yeah, evil supreme leader things. I get it.**

**But I don’t hate you now, so you know. I actually think I like you even more (I’m gonna regret saying that, I know). Sure you’re an annoying little twerp but everyone was annoying in one way or another. And I didn’t see any of them sacrificing their own lives to end the game.**

**I don’t know if it’s what you still believe, but I don’t think lies are so bad, either.**

Rantaro came over already changed out of his work apron and handed you your boxed up cake. You took it with a soft smile. 

He locked up the coffeeshop and followed you down the street towards where you said your house was. You could tell he was trying to be polite by not being on his phone too much, but you couldn’t help but notice the pictures of Shuichi that popped up on his screen periodically out of the corner of your eye. 

You smirked, not trying very hard to hide it.

He noticed. “Shut up.”

“So you guys are good friends, huh?” You snickered. 

“I thought you already knew that,” he said with a sigh, snapping a quick picture of the top half of his face to send back to the boy. 

“Yeah, but like,” you paused to nudge him, “ _good_ friends.”

“Cut it out,” he groaned, lightly pushing you back. A soft smile graced his lips regardless. 

“Tell him he smells bad.”

Rantaro spluttered at the comment. “Wh- no he doesn’t!”

You made a popping noise with your lips. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t defend the honor of my friend's scent _that_ aggressively.”

He slid his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. I like him, alright?”

“Why do you say that like he doesn’t like you back?”

Rantaro went silent, and for a bit, the only sound was your footsteps on the concrete sidewalk, occasionally joined by the rumbling of a passing car’s engine. 

“I’d rather not talk about it if that’s okay.”

You nodded. “That’s fine.” You trailed your eyes on the cracks in the stone underneath you, searching for the right words. “But just so you know, from a stranger’s perspective, I see the spark.”

He smiled. “Thanks. That’s nice to know, actually.”

You got to your apartment a few minutes later, Rantaro pulling you into a quick embrace before you said your goodbyes. You took the stairs up to the third floor, cheeks flushed and palms sweaty despite the cold. 

Were you guys friends now? 

You stared at the second box of free cake in your hand and frowned.

He was too nice for you to decide. Plus, walking people home was a courtesy, right? He’d feel guilty for the rest of his life if you got stabbed outside your apartment, knowing he probably could have prevented it. If there was one thing you knew, it was that people hated guilt. 

Also, that people were inherently selfish. Though that didn’t seem relevant in this scenario.

You closed the apartment door behind you, the scent of burnt bread immediately hitting your nostrils. You scrunched up your nose. 

“Y/n!” Kicki spun around, a spatula covered in burning pieces of cheese in his hand. “I thought you’d died in a gang fight or something! _So tragic_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't too boring! I love imagining DR as a real show and thinking about what it would be like, so this was fun for me to write. Also- Rantaro.


	7. Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You pulled your legs onto the couch and rested your head on the top of your knees. “I’m assuming you know better than anyone that fame isn’t a synonym for good.”
> 
> Kichi stared at the TV. “This conversation is boring. Let’s talk about cows.”

You ran to the kitchen to assess the damage, the soles of your shoes not cooperating with the wood floors as you skidded to a stop and fell on your ass.

“Ouch.”

Kichi leaned over you with a curious expression, ignoring the smoke pouring from his pan on the stove. He tilted his head to the side and pointed the dirty spatula at you. “Huh. Not exactly the welcome home I was expecting.” 

After a few seconds of you sitting immobile Kichi rolled his eyes and tucked the spatula under his arm, holding out his hand for you to take. Annoyed at the pain in your behind more than anything, you begrudgingly obliged. You nudged him out of the way to turn off the stove and ignored the whining behind you as you transferred the pan holding his burnt sandwich to the sink.

“That’s my food!” He protested, trying to push past you to grab the sandwich despite its inedible state. 

“No, it’s garbage,” you grumbled. You scrunched up your nose at the smell of him now that he was near and held out your arm to push him away. “You smell like a bonfire,” you said, looking him up and down and noticing the dirt covering his clothes (including your favorite leather jacket slung over his shoulder). “You’re also filthy. I’ll start you a shower.”

Ignoring what you'd said, he snatched the sandwich from behind you and shoved it into his mouth, taking a larger bite then you think he intended. The burnt-to-a-crisp bread crunched loudly in his mouth, as black crumbs fell to the floor and coated his chin and fingers. 

You had to give it to him, he barely flinched. 

“See, y/n?” He shoved the sandwich in your face, making you take a large step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Then again, I wouldn’t expect a peasant like you to understand the tastebuds of the elite.” 

You eyed the brick of a sandwich in his hand. 

After a quick shake of your head, you decided to let it go and walked towards the bathroom. “Do _not_ touch the stove again, please,” you called over your shoulder. You didn’t wait to hear his response before turning the corner to the laundry room to grab a towel. He also needed clothes, so you grabbed some basic items of yours you thought might fit him; a pair of sweatpants and a dark-green long sleeve shirt. You threw in some fluffy socks for good measure. 

After putting the folded clothes on the bathroom counter you did a quick scan of the shower to make sure he’d have everything he needed. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face wash… You and Miriana shared the bathroom so he had two options for everything. Your roommate insisted that overly scented products dried out your skin so all of hers were natural “fresh” scents, you thought this was probably too boring for the purple-haired boy. That meant he’d likely use yours; a mismatched array of out-of-season Christmas scents that you bought in bulk when they were available. 

Vanilla Bean Noel was just too good to use only one month a year, alright?

You went ahead and grabbed a new toothbrush and toothpaste from the stash in Miriana’s room for patients and put those on the counter by the clothes as well.

When you got back to the main part of the apartment, you let out the breath you’d been holding. Rather than burning more of your appliances, Kichi was laying on the couch, and upon further inspection, you found he was sleeping. You looked down at the small rise and fall of his chest, the fluffy blanket pulled lazily up to his stomach and not nearly keeping him warm enough in your overly cold apartment. You didn’t want to wake him, but he had all the time in the world to sleep. Plus, you hated the smell of smoke, and that was your favorite pillow he was laying on. 

You poked his cheek a few times with no response, eventually switching to shaking his shoulder. This also garnered nothing, his breath continuing to rise and fall peacefully. “Kichi, wake up please,” you whined. 

After a few more failed attempts of poking and shaking, you pinched his nose until he woke up and spluttered for air.

“Geeze!” He yelled, swatting your hand away and glaring. “You could’ve just shook me _gently_ , you know.”

“I did.” You stepped back with a frown and crossed your arms defensively. “You didn’t wake up.”

He tapped a finger against his chin. “Reeeeally? You sure you just weren’t trying to kill me?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

His face was eerily blank for a few more seconds before a smile sprung on his lips, one that was also eerie in its intensity. He flipped his position so he was upside down, his legs hanging off the back of his couch and his head lolling off the front. The edges of his hair barely brushed against the floor. “I know, silly! I was never asleep!” 

You figured as much, but the logical part of you didn’t believe anyone could calm their pulse that easily. Figuring Kichi out required dropping all logic, apparently.

“Either way, I came to get you to tell you your shower’s ready.” You nodded towards the bathroom. “I can make you another sandwich in the meantime, if you still want one.”

His eyes widened before he slid clumsily off the couch from his upside-down position, the table impeding any hope of a graceful exit. His shoulder still whacked against the edge of it as he stood up and he hissed in pain. “Wow, I can’t believe my darling y/n is going to shower me.” He brushed imaginary dirt off the affected shoulder as if the injury had never happened, any sign of pain leaving his face and replaced by a smirk. “How _cute_.”

You rolled your eyes and walked to the bathroom, assuming he’d follow you. As much as you wanted to keep your cool, you really couldn’t look him in the eye right now. “I’m not showering you, idiot. You’re doing it yourself.”

He bounded in front of you and swung around the doorframe into the bathroom, surveying the items on the counter. “Awe, but don’t you need to shower, too?” The smile slipped off his face and was replaced by an annoyed grimace as he balled his hands into angry fists at his side. He narrowed his eyes in a way that made you question if he was really being serious or not. “You know only 1% of the world’s water is freshwater, right? Y/n is so selfish!”

Your mouth hung open with a lack of words, practically getting whiplash from his quick change of emotion. He continued glaring at you, rocking back and forth on his heels as if waiting for a response. “I’m… sorry?” You said, rubbing your forearm and looking anywhere but him. (He’s joking, right? 

He has to be joking.) 

“I’m just kidding, silly!” He bounded over and ruffled your hair. “Don’t take everything so seriously.”

(Ok good, he was joking. That’s what you wanted, right?

Right. 

You really like him touching your hair, you’ve decided.)

“Okay,” you said, dropping your nervous arm. You gestured to the counter. “Sorry the clothes suck, I don’t have anything close to what you usually wear but I tried. If you leave what you’re wearing right now outside the door I can wash them, though. And then you can have them-”

“Alright, alright. It’s fine.” He waved away your concerns with a flick of his hand and started shrugging off your jacket. You went to step out and leave him be but he grabbed your arm before you could, pushing the leather jacket against your chest and not meeting your eyes. “Here. I don’t want it anymore.”

You looked from the jacket to his face and back again before taking it gently. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, I’m not doing you a favor.” He huffed, stepping back and glaring at the pile of clothes. “It’s just really ugly.”

You smirked. "Well, thanks anyway.”

With the jacket in your hands, you shut the door to the bathroom and walked to throw it in the laundry. By the time you finished setting up the machine and walked back through the hallway the rest of his clothes were piled outside the bathroom door as you suggested. You went to throw those in as well and started the load. 

You hummed as you worked on making a new sandwich with the clean pan and spatula you’d grabbed, trying to imitate the failed and half-eaten grilled cheese now sitting in the trash. You turned on the microwave fan to get rid of the rest of the smell in the air, as well.

It reminded you too much of cigarettes. It reminded you too much of _things_. 

You lit a Vanilla Bean Noel candle. 

Kichi came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, scrubbing his hair with one of your towels like a wet dog as small water droplets dripped down his face and neck. He noticed the finished grilled cheese on the counter and sprinted over to you with wide eyes, the towel forgot on the floor beside the bathroom. He took a normal bite unlike last time before nodding, not unlike a boss approving an employee’s work. “I knew I was craving grilled cheese.”

The purple-haired boy was wearing the sweatpants and shirt you'd put out for him, the edge of the sleeves hanging over his fingers and the pant legs trailing against the ground. You liked your pajamas oversized, and you figured they’d be more comfortable to wear than jeans and a t-shirt straight out of the shower. It was adorable, the way he got swamped up in the fabric and how the collar of the shirt drooped just low enough for you to see his collarbones. 

You pulled your eyes away from him. “Still think you’re the superior cook, hm?”

His eyes flickered to the dirty dishes. He nodded his head aggressively, the motion at some point turning into a shake that flung water all over you.

“Hey!” You swatted him away and backed up, dragging your palms down your cheeks to wipe away the cold droplets. “That didn’t feel like gratitude to me,” you mumbled.

He shrugged nonchalantly and continued eating his sandwich, licking the crumbs off his fingers after he finished. He leaned over the counter to drop his plate in the sink. “You’re doing this because you feel bad for me, right? Why should I thank you for your guilt?”

You curled your fingers around the hem of your shirt, burying your fingernails in the soft fabric. “What makes you think that’s why I’m doing this? I see hurt people every day because of Miri, and this is the first time-”

“OK so you think I’m cute.” He rested his elbows on the counter and dropped his head in his hands, batting his eyelashes up at you. “Should I thank you for that, too?” 

The passive-aggressive sweetness in his voice made you sick. 

You felt your hands curl into fists that threatened to raise and bang against the table. Still, you stopped them before they could reach above your waist. You paused and shoved them into your pockets with a huff. “Remember what you told me the first night you were here?” You said, voice closer to a whisper.

He cocked his head to the side.

“You said I didn’t know you. And you were right, I don’t.” You stared at the TV in the living room, the muted picture flickering as the antenna’s signal went in and out. The sound of rain hitting the windows echoed through the apartment, something you hadn’t noticed until that moment, “But you don't know me either. That journal is only the worst parts of me, which is why it kind of pisses me off that you got to know those first. Without my permission, in case you forgot about that.”

“I didn’t.” He moved his arms so they were resting behind his head and smiled at you. A soft smile. A smile you’d call genuine, but maybe that was just your naivety speaking. 

You sighed. “Somehow I got to know the good parts of you first. That’s not really fair, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, the edges of his hair bouncing against his shoulders. “I didn’t really think there were _good_ parts of me to learn, so congrats on whatever you’re talking about!”

You didn’t respond quickly enough, giving him time to change the subject.

“Lemme see Dic! I bet he misses me soooo much,” Kichi called, leaning over the counter in the direction of your room as if the lizard could somehow hear him. 

You put your hand lightly on his shoulder before he left to grab your pet, trying your best not to startle him with the contact. He didn’t flinch this time, only turn towards you with an angry glare, and you took that as a win. You pulled back your hand. “I’m helping you because I think you deserve it. That was the reason from the beginning, and it’s still the reason now. 

He looked back at you with purple eyes, damp strands of gingerbread scented hair sticking to his forehead. His skin was still flushed pink from the heat of the shower, the redness collecting on his cheeks and nose. 

“Everyone deserves someone on their side. Except maybe Tsumugi,” you grumbled, frowning. “Fuck her.”

“Yeah! Fuck her!” Kicki yelled, jumping up and punching the air. 

You snickered. Deciding to copy his volume, you yelled, “fuck her!”

Kichi repeated you again, louder this time, and the cycle went on until both of your words were blurring and tumbling over each other, your voices now indistinguishable. You continued until you were both out of breath, Kichi muttering one final “fuck…. her….” between labored gasps of air. 

And then you were out of breath from laughing. 

And then you found yourself admiring the ways his eyes scrunched up out of happiness, his purple irises barely visible under his long eyelashes.

(You wanted to say: hey, you weren’t wrong, though. I do think you’re super cute. But that’s not the reason I’m letting you stay here, I promise. I really, really, _really_ promise. It’s not my fault you have a face like that!

… But you didn’t say that. Obviously.)

He leaned over and flicked your nose. “Whatever you say, y/n. Just don’t go pulling any funny business on me, okaaayyy?”

“You’re the one that asked me to-”

“Non, non.” He pressed a finger against your lips to silence you. “The past is in the past.”

You nodded softly in agreement. 

The purple-haired boy swung himself around the kitchen island to get to the living room before dropping down on the couch. He propped his feet on the table and waved the remote in the air.

You smiled at the fluffy socks on his feet. 

You walked over and took the spot beside him, keeping a safe distance away. With a drop of your stomach, you realized that he’d pulled up the next episode of Danganronpa. “Please no,” you whispered.

“Oh c’mon. You haven’t even seen the best part!” He whined, scooting closer to you. 

You shook your head and shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “I’ve seen all I need to see Kichi-”

“So you get a choice, but I didn’t?” 

Your eyes widened. You could practically feel the guilt crawling up your stomach and into your lungs, hindering your breathing. Trying to keep yourself together, you wrapped your arms around your body as if to keep all the pieces in one place. “I-I don’t-”

Kichi nudged you gently. “Geeze, chill out. I was just joking.” He handed you the remote with a shrug. “We don’t have to watch it if you don’t wanna. I was lying about it being the best part, anyway. How can something be the best without me in it?”

You snickered and fiddled with the remote, navigating away from Danganronpa and instead searching for the detective show you both liked. (Well, you assumed he liked it. He’d marathoned two seasons the day before, after all.) “You did make it entertaining, I guess.”

He swung his legs underneath himself to sit on them. It effectively made him taller than you. “You guess. You _GUESS_?” He pointed a finger in your face, centimeters from the tip of your nose. “I was the only thing that kept that damn show running. Half of those views were my organization cheering me on!”

You nodded, trying to avoid touching his finger again. The first time had been more than enough contact for the day. “People really liked you, right?” You clicked on the next episode of the show and leaned over to put the remote on the table once he’d dropped his hand.

“Yup! Consistently the #1 contestant in every poll.”

You pulled your legs onto the couch and rested your head on the top of your knees. “I’m assuming you know better than anyone that fame isn’t a synonym for good.”

Kichi stared at the TV. “This conversation is boring. Let’s talk about cows.”

“Cows are cute,” you said, flinching as a murder scene played out on screen. Even though you’d seen all the episodes more times then you could count, watching someone die always put you on edge. There was a certain satisfaction in watching justice be served in the end, a type of satisfaction that Danganronpa didn’t allow for. You just got another murder scene. “Milk is gross, though.”

“How dare you,” Kichi hissed. “Don’t come crying to me when your weak ass bones get crushed like a twig.”

You pressed your mouth against your hand to hold back a laugh. “In the time we’ve known each other, you’ve gotten two injuries and I’ve gotten zero. Not even counting that scratch against the table earlier.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, his large frown egging you on. “I’d say I’m winning.”

“Let’s make it even then.” 

He had a knife against your throat before you could flinch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of this scene (should have part 2 out in the next few days)- sorry for the cliffhanger!


	8. Quarantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kichi flung open the door before you had a chance to react, all eyes turning to the small boy. “Now, grovel at my feet peasants!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little inspired by my current coronavirus quarantine, okay? Gimme a break sksk.

“... Kichi?” You whispered.

“Mhm?” He hummed in response, holding the knife against the soft skin of your neck and watching your pulse beat against it. 

“This isn’t pleasant.”

He laughed. A loud, guttural, sadistic laugh. “I have a _knife_ against your throat and all you have to say is... it’s not pleasant?”

Part of you wanted to nod, but the other part of you was terrified that the sudden movement might make him press it deeper. You settled on not saying anything and staying still, figuring he’d accept the lack of an answer as an answer in itself. 

He stared at the knife in a daze, the only sound in the room your shallow breathing. His own was silent, but the steady rise and fall of his shoulders let you know he was at least alive. (It wouldn’t surprise you if he was a ghost, after all. His sudden presence in your life was crazy enough. Why not add to the chaos?)

He pulled away. 

You let out a sigh and rubbed the indented skin of your neck as he slid the weapon back into his pants. It was a simple kitchen knife, the kind you used for cutting up vegetables. (Wait- that wasn’t _your_ knife, was it?)

He made a whining noise and kicked his feet against the ground. You cringed for the residents underneath you. “It’s not fair! Why am _I_ the one always getting taken care of?”

You snickered, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. “You want to take care of me?”

He whipped his head towards you with narrowed eyes. “That is _not_ what I said.”

You leaned against the back of the couch with a smile tugging at your lips. Your eyelids fluttered closed with fatigue. “It kinda is, though.”

The cushions shifted underneath you as the boy crawled closer on his hands and knees. The cold tip of his nose pressed against your cheek and you tried not to flinch away, keeping your eyes shut as if the proximity didn’t affect you at all. (He was just looking for a reaction anyway, right?)

He pressed his tongue flat against your cheek. 

“What the fuck!?” You pushed him away with one hand and wiped his saliva off your face with the other. You stood up with a disgusted expression and took a few steps away from the couch. “The fuck is your deal, right now?”

The boy stared at you with innocent purple eyes, his hands folded neatly in his lap as if he hadn't just assaulted you with his spit. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You huffed. “You threatened me with a knife.”

(Let's just pretend the tongue thing didn't happen. For both of our sakes.)

“And?” He asked in a sing-song voice, twirling a lock of violet hair around his finger. “Is that not what people do to show their affection?”

“Their wh-” You cut yourself off, rolling your eyes to the ceiling (you were surprised they hadn't gotten stuck in the back of your head at this point) and pinching the bridge of your nose. “Okay. Fine. I’ll play along.”

You walked back to the couch and sat down, your posture stiff and your hands sitting limply in your lap. Kichi scooted closer anyways and leaned his head against your shoulder. His hair brushed against your face, making your nose scrunch up in the beginning of a sneeze. “See? You love me now!”

You brushed his hair away, smoothing it down on the top of his head. He had too many baby hairs that floated through the air, little wisps of purple and navy. “No. I’m playing along.”

He hummed in response.

\---

There was a snowstorm the next day. 

You sat on the windowsill watching the snow come down in sheets, coating the ground and rooftops in white. It clung onto the branches of trees, piling into mounds that threatened to fall on the nonexistent passerby. 

It was odd to see the streets of the bustling city empty, even in the Winter, and the vacant sidewalks felt eerie in a way. Like an abandoned amusement park. You were used to watching through your window as the over-eager world carried on with its daily routine, but for once, the outside seemed to reflect your own internal state. Maybe that should’ve been comforting in a way? The fact that everyone else was holed up at home and forced to entertain themselves in a way that came naturally to you- reading, journaling, sketching… The snow begged for solitude, and blizzards begged for loneliness. 

Besides the vacant window views, you were happy for the excuse to stay home from work and spend time with Kichi, as well as the fact that you didn't have to deal with such a day alone. Without Miriana there, you probably would have laid in bed all day drifting in and out of sleep, only breaking the routine to stumble to the kitchen for a drink of lemon water.

Loneliness was an old habit that you kept up just for the familiarity of it. Maybe you were scared of what would happen if such an innate part of you was whittled away? Or maybe it was just who you were. As long as you had been alive, you still couldn't figure out which it was. 

You sighed and closed the curtains.

Kichi wasn’t as happy about the weather, pacing back and forth in the kitchen with a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a cellphone in the other. “It’s barely below zero, I’m sure I’ll be-”

“For the last time, you can’t go outside,” you said, walking over to the kitchen to grab his phone out of his hand. You clicked it off so he would stop checking the weather app and put it on the counter face down. “You have zero body fat and will probably die.”

He scoffed at the comment. “Well happy birthday to you, too.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching as he sipped lightly at his drink and the whipped cream gathered into a faux mustache above his lip. His nose scrunched into a sneeze before he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“Bless you,” you said with a snicker. “Also, it’s not your birthday.”

He pointed at your face abruptly enough to make you flinch. “How would _you_ know that, huh?”

You thought about it. You wouldn’t know, actually. 

Though, knowing him even as little as you did, you figured he’d either make a big deal about it from the strike of midnight by jumping on your bed to wake you up and blasting the happy birthday song from his phone or just not bring it up at all. Throwing it into casual conversation didn’t seem like it fit his character. Still, maybe that was why he was so annoyed about the snowstorm?

You frowned. “Is it really?”

He opened his mouth to answer with a mischievous smirk already playing on his lips, but you cut in before he got the chance. “Don’t lie.”

The smirk was effectively wiped off his face, replaced by glassy eyes and pouting lips. “I’m not lying! You’re being really mean to the birthday boy, ya know. You should be groveling at my feet with a perfectly baked-”

“Not happening."

Despite your words, you pushed past him to the fridge to double-check what you already knew. No groceries besides a few vegetables, apples, and frozen meals in the freezer for when Miri was alone without you to cook. “We don’t have anything to bake a cake, even if I wanted to.”

He smirked at you with a knowing expression, raising the mug slowly to his lips.

Your eyebrow twitched in annoyance. “And I _don’t_ want to, anyway,” you grumbled. After shutting the fridge you walked over to the pantry, scanning the items for something sweet. Miri's protein bars... salt and vinegar chips... scratch that- _expired_ salt and vinegar chips... “We can make muffins?” You asked, picking up the box and reading through the ingredients it called for. 

Kichi came up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “So you _do_ care,” he mused. 

You could feel his breath on your neck, making it impossible to read the ingredients with an ounce of clarity. 

You re-read the word ‘flour’ for what felt like the fiftieth time as he smirked and leaned closer to your face. “How sweet,” he whispered, the words hot in your ear.

You shoved your elbow into his chest, eliciting a wince from the purple-haired boy. “ _O_ -kay, that’s enough.” 

He stared at you with innocent eyes.

You sighed. “Happy birthday, I guess.”

He continued staring at you, blinking slowly. 

You clutched the muffin mix tightly against your chest. “I don’t hate you, I _guess."_

Kichi clapped his hands together in excitement, jumping up and down like an excited toddler. “This is gonna be the best birthday ever!” He ran over to the oven, immediately spinning the knobs and fiddling with various buttons. The flames fluttered to life on at least two of the burners and a few lights turned on that you didn't even know existed. “We gotta preheat it or whatever, right?”

You cursed under your breath and dropped the mix onto the counter, walking over to Kichi and grabbing both his wrists to stop his tyrant on your kitchen appliance. You held them against his chest and stared into his eyes pointedly. “Yes, but not like that. How about I just-”

“No,” he yelled, ripping his arms away. “You just want to keep me away so you can poison them. You’re gonna kill me on my birthday! That’s cruel, even for you, y/n!” Tears pooled up in the corner of his eyes, eventually crashing down his cheeks in a full-fledged sob. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

_It’s his birthday, it’s his birthday, it’s his birthday, it’s his Birthday…_

You sighed. “Alright. How about you do the mixing?”

The muffins took much longer then they should’ve, considering Kichi added double the sugar to the batter while you weren’t looking and you had to mess with the recipe to even it out. You happened to have food coloring from back when you were into making macarons, and you let him color the muffins to his heart's content. They came out interesting, to say the least. 

You munched on a blue and green one as you sat cross-legged on the couch, watching an old black and white movie they’d had playing on TV. It wasn’t super interesting, but Kichi thought the acting was hilarious and kept inserting his own dialogue, making the both of you laugh at scenes that were most definitely not meant to be funny. Your phone rang and you excused yourself to the bathroom to take the call, Kichi too engaged in making fun of the main character with a mouthful of purple muffin to bother responding. 

You shut the bathroom door behind you and leaned against it. “Hello?” 

“Y/n, hey!” Shuichi’s voice crackled through the speaker. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What’s up?”

“Oh, well.” He laughed nervously. “Rantaro and I kind of have a problem and were wondering if you could, uh, help?”

You tapped your fingers against the door. “Huh?”

Static crackled through the speaker and a different voice sounded then before. “Hey y/n, it’s Rantaro. Shuichi’s a little freaked out so he’s being weird,” he said with a laugh probably meant to be nonchalant.

You frowned, not at all buying it.

“Do you, uh, have power?”

You glanced up at the fully functional lights in your bathroom. “Yup?”

There was silence on the other end, and then Rantaro's voice slightly less nervous than before. “Great, great. Well, we’re at my apartment right now, above the shop, and the power just went out for us, so.”

You frowned harder.

“Obviously no one can drive right now so we can’t really get someone to pick us up.”

Your stomach flipped in preparation for the favor you knew he was about to ask. Curse you for letting him walk you home. 

“I know you’re in walking distance so we were wondering if we could hang until the power comes back? It’s, uh, really cold.”

You knew Rantaro had no idea how much longer the power would take to come back, but he probably meant until either that happened or the storm cleared up enough for them to drive. Either way, it meant a night at your apartment. And that was _more_ than a problem. Still, they were your friends too (weren’t they?) and you couldn’t leave them shivering with no heating in the middle of a snowstorm. (Not like they’d mind cuddling with each other for warmth, you thought.)

“Uh, yeah of course. Head on over,” you said, gnawing on the inside of your cheek the moment the words left your lips. 

“Awesome! Thanks so much,” Rantaro said, breathing a sigh of relief. (You wondered if he was really expecting you to say no. That whole thing about humans hating guilt? Yeah, you felt that too.) “We’ll be there in a second.”

“Of course. See ya then.”

The receiver clicked off, and you stared at the ceiling. 

Well _fuck_.

After a few deep breaths you walked back to the living room. Kichi turned to look at you, eating a deformed orange muffin now with far too many chocolate chips. 

“Bad news,” you said. 

\---

He stared at you.

“Please say something,” you mumbled, tucking your hair behind your ear.

He kept staring.

“I didn’t even know you guys knew each other until yesterday. How was I supposed to-”

“Shut up,” he said, jerking his head from side to side. “Just shut _up_.” The couch sunk further underneath you as Kichi stood up. He angrily wiped the remaining muffin crumbs off his pants and onto the floor, a deep crease between his eyebrows. 

You wondered if he was going to leave again. 

You wondered if you would chase him out this time. 

Picking at a pink muffin, you let the pieces fall into your palm. The knot in your chest tightened at his words and you felt tears prick in the corner of your eyes. Before you'd met Kichi, you hadn't cried in years. The realization that you'd teared up for two days in a row somehow made the tears come quicker. 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

You barely heard it, but it was there. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

Wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, you looked up at him. The crease was gone as well as any anger, his purple eyes sparkling with a childish light. “You think I care about what those lowlifes think of me? In your dreams.” With a bounce in his step he walked around the couch in circles, seemingly no destination in mind. “I _guess_ I’ll grace them with my presence again. If only because I’m so generous to my subjects."

“Kichi, you don’t have to-”

“And what would you suggest, hm?” He said, stopping in front of you with crossed arms.

“They can stay in here, and you can stay in my room with Muf- er, Dic. If we hurry up we can stock you up with drinks and food so you’ll be set for a few days?” 

"I think we both know there's no food to 'stock me up with'." (You wondered if he was talking about the expired salt and vinegar chips... Probably.) He nodded towards the hallway. “And the bathroom?”

Shit.

You stabbed your finger into the muffin in frustration. “I have some really nice cups?”

He scoffed, opening his mouth to make another remark before the doorbell interrupted him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, dropping your head into your hands. You felt the tears burning in your eyes again, a few slipping down your cheeks. 

Kichi pressed his pointer finger under your chin and tilted your head up to face him. He looked down at you, his face framed by the ceiling light he was blocking. It gave him an angelic glow, coating the ends of his hair in a milky highlight. "Sorry doesn’t suit you. Don’t say it, okay?”

You blinked slowly, staring at his wide smile and bright eyes. He wasn’t mad at you.

You gulped loudly and nodded.

“Good!” He pulled back his hand and clasped them behind his back. “Now, time for-”

The doorbell rang again. 

He rolled his eyes. “Impatient motherfuckers.”

Your eyes widened at his word choice but you scrambled to open the door while frantically wiping away your tears. Once you were as satisfied as you could be with your face, you cracked open the door just enough to keep Kicki hidden from sight. 

“Hey, guys!” You said cheerfully, a stark contrast to the mood you were met with. 

The pair looked miserable, to say the least. 

Shuichi shivered under what looked like three jackets, a woolen hat instead of a baseball cap pulled over his face. Rantaro wasn’t much better with a jacket that looked like it was made for skiing and a huge green scarf that matched his hair. Snowflakes covered both of the boy’s clothing and clung to their eyelashes. They shivered in place, Shuichi’s teeth clattering in an annoying rhythm.

“Hey, y/n. Thanks again for doing this,” Rantaro said, granting you a lopsided smile. 

You nodded, already feeling guilty for making them stay outside a few seconds longer. At least the hallway was more heated than the streets. Your fingers curled around the edge of the door tight enough to turn your knuckles white. “Uh, so there’s something I have to tell you guys before you can come in.”

Shuichi stared at you with worry in his eyes. 

You felt a light hand on your shoulder and making sure to keep the door mostly closed you turned to Kichi. He smiled at you with a toothy grin and gestured to the door as if to say ‘let me handle it’. You wanted to tell him that you absolutely _couldn’t_ let him handle it, but you also knew that he could easily push you aside any second and take over the conversation by force. Plus, it was his birthday, right?

You nodded before turning back to the pair outside. “It’s about my guest,” you said apologetically. 

Kichi flung open the door before you had a chance to react, all eyes turning to the small boy. “Now, grovel at my feet peasants!”

Shuichi and Rantaro were speechless. 

You, however, tried to get out any combination of words to soften the blow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you guys knew each other until yesterday,” you said, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a mostly incomprehensible slur. 

Rantaro glared at you and you flinched under his gaze. “But you _said_ -”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” You bowed your head to stare at your feet, avoiding any other angry eyes that might be looking in your direction. “That was wrong of me. I just wanted to protect him.”

Everyone frowned at that.

“Excuse me,” Kichi scoffed. “I don’t need any protection, thank you very-”

Shuichi stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the smaller boy. Kichi immediately struggled against his grip, laughing nervously as the blue-haired boy refused to let him go. “Well, hah, this is, uhm,” he trailed off, body going stiff as Shuichi continued with the hug. Shuichi muttered something that you couldn’t quite make out and Kichi’s eyes widened. He swallowed loudly. “Well I, uh, sure as hell didn’t miss _you_.” 

You watched with a faint smile as Kichi awkwardly patted the top of the taller boy's head before pushing him away. Shuichi’s face was bright red as he walked back towards Rantaro, wringing his hands in front of him. The green-haired boy put his arm around Shuichi protectively. 

Kichi frowned as he noticed the action. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by another bright smile as he skipped over and wrapped his arm around yours. “As y/n was _saying_ , we live together. Like a couple!”

You spluttered, now definitely unable to get out proper words as your cheeks turned bright pink. “No, no, no. Not like a couple.”

“Then like what?” Rantaro asked, a smirk on his lips.

Shuichi, clearly as uncomfortable with the situation as you, pulled away from Rantaro and walked over to you. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve been wanting to catch up for a while.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kichi said with a scoff.

You both ignored him. 

“I’m glad. I didn’t want everything to happen like this but I couldn’t leave you guys in the storm, so.” You frowned and slid your arm out of Kichi’s embrace. Your skin felt extra cold without the presence. “Anyways, I’ll make up the extra bed for you guys since this will probably last the night.” 

By ‘extra bed’ you meant Miriana’s. You avoided using it with Kichi, offering him the couch instead, but with the two added guests there wasn’t much else you could do besides giving up your own. Your room was your safe space, and the thought of giving other people domain over it made you nauseous with anxiety. You wondered why the previous thought of letting Kichi take it didn’t bother you nearly as much.

Shaking away the thought, you nodded towards the couch. “Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable. We made muffins if you want some.”

Kichi opened his mouth to say something but you slapped your hand over it before he had the chance. 

Rantaro and Shuichi thanked you before making their way to the living room. You watched them eye the multicolored muffins suspiciously. 

You dropped your hand before Kichi could lick it and he started grumbling the moment air reached his lips. “... probably think I made them and poisoned them. Those idiots are still stuck in the killing game. I don’t know why they fucking think I want two dead bodies in-”

“More for us,” you interrupted, smiling softly. You shrugged. “Their loss, anyways.” 

Kichi smiled back, the red anger slowly fading from his cheeks. 

You nodded towards Miriana’s room. “C’mon, help me make up the bed?”

\---

“Why did you say we were a couple?” You hissed, pulling the end of the fitted sheet over the mattress.

Kichi smirked, securing his own end before shrugging. “I wanted to piss them off.”

You frowned, pulling the final edge of the fitted sheet under the mattress and double-checking that all of it was secure. “Just don’t say that again without telling me.”

Kichi was beside you leaning on your shoulder before you could react. “Without telling you, huh?” He mused.

You pushed him off. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you grumbled, gathering the comforter in your arms and dropping it onto the bed. You nodded towards it for Kichi to help, but he pretended like he didn’t see you. You rolled your eyes and started smoothing it out on your own. “I don’t mind helping you piss people off, is what I mean. But it’s only funny if I know what we're doing.”

“But that’s the point!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms out wide. “Jokes are the funniest when no one but me knows they’re jokes.”

You chuckled and continued making the bed.

\---

The four of you sat at the kitchen table, a cup of something or another between each of your hands, the plate of far too many muffins as the centerpiece.

Kichi grinned. “So, you’ve got me where you want me. What now?”

Rantaro and Shuichi glanced at each other as if they were asking that same question themselves. 

Rantaro cleared his throat. “Well, for starters, Shuichi has a lot of questions.”

“Of course he does!” Kichi said with a giggle, messing with the cup in front of him. He dunked his teabag a little too enthusiastically, spraying what he called ‘milky-leaf-water’ on the table. “Oops.” 

You sighed and got up to grab a napkin. 

“Why did you hide?” Shuichi said, his voice closer to a whisper. 

You grabbed a few napkins from under the sink and walked back to the table right as Kichi finished up his monologue on how he was kidnapped by Somalian pirates for his hidden fortune and had to be saved by DICE.

Neither Rantaro nor Shuichi were buying it, for good reason, but they listened anyway. 

Maybe they missed his crazy personality?

“Okay Kokichi cut the shit,” Rantaro said.

Okay, maybe not. 

“But it’s the-”

“We all know you’re lying, Kokichi. You don’t have to do that anymore,” Shuichi said, his voice soft and reassuring. He tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, refusing to meet anyone’s eye. 

Kichi went silent, glaring at the muffins in the center of the table. He huffed. “You guys are still no fun, I see.”

Rantaro threw up his hands in exasperation. “Oh c-”

“No,” Kichi cut him off. “You hoped that I’d be different because the game is over, that that was all just some sort of stupid act created by the production. And maybe it was. But that doesn’t matter, whoever I was before that fucking game doesn’t matter, because this is who I am now.”

Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the handle of your coffee mug. You didn’t dare bring it to your lips.

Kichi pushed his cup towards you. “I don’t like the tea. Make me something else, 'kay?"

You frowned at the demand, fully ready to defend your honor as a not-slave, but after a quick look at the defeat in his face, you nodded and picked up the mug. 

“You shouldn’t let him order you around like that,” Rantaro said, glaring at Kokichi as you walked with the mug to the kitchen. 

For the first time that day, you felt anger bubble in your stomach. “What I do is none of your business, Amami.”

You spared a glance at Kichi in time to see the smile on his lips. It made it worth it. 

You prepared a cup of coffee for the purple-haired boy as you listened in on their conversation. 

“Don’t pretend to care about me.”

“We’re not pretending, Kokichi. Do you think we’d try this hard to find you for some big joke?”

“You found me by chance. You obviously didn’t try hard enough.”

“We traveled to four other cities.”

“All for little old me? I doubt it.”

“For everyone.”

“Ah, there it is. You’re just shoving me in there to make yourselves feel good. We all know you’d rather find Kirumi or Gonta or another one of those pea-brained idiots.”

“Don’t talk about them like that.”

“I’m sure you have that same energy when people talk about _me_ like that!”

“I do.”

“That’s a lie, Shumai. I should know. I’m the best liar here, after all.”

You sat down at the table and placed Kichi’s cup of coffee in front of him, trying your best not to interrupt the conversation with your presence. It didn’t work, as Kichi immediately grabbed the cup and turned to you with a wide smile on his lips. “Thank you, my dearest y/n! You really are the _best_.”

Your cheeks heated up at the words and you tried your best to cover them with your hair. “It’s no problem,” you responded, the words more like a whisper under your breath. 

Kichi reached over and tucked your hair behind your ear. “You’re just like Shumai, trying to hide your eyes all the time! I hate it, so stop.”

You stared at him with an awestruck expression, your hand moving on its own to tuck the other piece of hair behind your ear. 

“There,” he cooed, smiling even wider. “Much better.”

Rantaro cleared his throat awkwardly, taking a sip of the tea you’d brewed him. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Anyways, we _have_ defended you to the others. Though not all of them want to hear it.”

Kichi snickered. “Oh, I’m sure!”

An awkward silence fell over the table, and you wondered if you were all replaying Miu’s death in your minds. You shook your head to get rid of the thought. 

Kichi sipped his coffee, making a loud _ah_ noise after he swallowed. “Are either of you going to tell me what you really want with me, or can I go back to planning my next evil heist?”

“Well, I’d like to talk to you for a bit, alone. If that’s alright,” Shuichi trailed off, glancing at you momentarily. “But mainly we’d like you to agree to meet with everyone else when we plan it.”

Kichi tapped his finger against his chin. “Both of those sound awful!” He exclaimed. His eyes turned dark as they narrowed. “What exactly do I get in return?”

Rantaro frowned. “You don’t need anything.”

“Well, that settles it,” Kichi mused, slamming his hands down on the table and pushing out his seat. “My answer is no.”

“Wait!” Shuichi leaned over and grabbed his wrist before he could leave. “Please. If you want to, uh, ask questions of your own-”

“Really?” Kichi ripped his arm away, making Shuichi flinch. “That wasn’t a _given_?”

You stared nervously at your tea, fingers itching to bob the tea bag or fiddle with your hair or reach out and hug the boy beside you. 

To be honest, you were annoyed at the entire situation. 

The way Rantaro had acted in the cafe was different from how he was acting now, especially since you thought he actually cared about the boy. But as you looked at the annoyance in his eyes as he stared at Kichi, you couldn’t help but think it was a lie. 

It was time to intervene.

You stood up. “I wouldn’t want to listen to you guys either if you treated me like you treat him.” The words tumbled out like everything else you'd said that day, but you hoped they were at least clear enough to be understood. 

“You’re right I- I’m sorry,” Shuichi said, pulling the beanie down further over his eyes.

You thought the sight was funny, much more so then when he did it with his hat, and you had to bite your lip to stop from laughing.

“That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you Kokichi,” he continued. “I wanted to apologize for some… things.”

Kichi frowned, eyes narrowed as he stared down at the boy. “Whatever. Make it quick.”

You put your hand lightly on his shoulder, his expression quickly switching to a soft smile as he turned to you. “You guys can go to Miri’s room if you want.” You nodded towards the hallway it was in. 

Kichi smiled wider. “Always so helpful,” he said, patting your hand. “C’mon Shuichi, time to grovel at my feet!” He grabbed the blue-haired boy's arm and tugged him out of his seat, the pair quickly disappearing into your roommate's room before Rantaro could voice the concerns most definitely on his lips. 

They came back a little over an hour later to find you and Rantaro working on lunch, making easy conversation and laughing despite the tense energy still hanging in the air. 

Shuichi smiled. 

Kokichi frowned. Deeply. 

The purple-haired boy skipped to the kitchen to put an end to things, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. “Whatcha doin?” He asked in a singsong voice.

“Oh, Kichi! Hey!” You exclaimed, the small boy a welcome presence after your gut spent the last hour in knots. You sighed in relief at the content expressions he and Shuichi held. “Just making lunch for everyone. Sandwiches and tomato soup.”

You dipped a spoon in the soup that was cooking on the stove, holding it up to Kichi’s mouth for him to try. He took the whole spoonful in one gulp, immediately crying out in pain and letting go of you. 

You sighed. “You’re supposed to blow on it, dumbass.”

He stuck out his freshly burnt tongue, tears in his glassy eyes. “You should’ve told me,” he wailed.

You gestured to the soup with a roll of your eyes. “You can _literally_ see that it’s boiling. I wasn’t going to insult your intelligence like that, but apparently-” Your eyes flickered to Rantaro and Shuichi talking in hushed whispers in the corner. You cleared your throat. “Uh.”

Kichi rolled his eyes. “They’re probably tryna come up with an excuse to leave.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Did the talk not go well?”

“It went like how you think it went.”

(You thought over the possible options from what little you knew. One, Shuichi apologized for everything that happened in the game and Kichi accepted his apology. Everything is happy butterflies. Two, Shuichi apologized for everything that happened in the game and Kichi rejected his apology. Things are awkward. You have to play the middle man for the rest of your life. Three, Shuichi apologized for everything that happened in the game and Kokichi apologized back. They confess their love. You and Rantaro are left in the dust.)

Your stomach flips. “I don’t really know if I’m being honest.”

“Awe, y/n.” Kichi pats the top of your head. “You’re never honest.”

You frown.

“But if you really want to know, he said he just wants to forget everything that happened in the game.” Kichi shrugged. “That includes all the shit I did.”

(Option ???)

You nod as if you understand. “So no apologies, or anything like that?”

“What do you think this is, y/n? One of your therapy sessions?” 

You roll your eyes and open your mouth to say something before Rantaro and Shuichi walk over, Rantaro’s hand resting on his back.

(Okay. Option three is out.)

“The storm’s slowed down a lot,” Rantaro said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “If you guys don’t mind, I think we’re gonna try driving to Shuichi’s house after lunch.”

“We really appreciate you letting us stay here, y/n,” Shuichi said, smiling softly. “It means a lot.”

You nodded, giving him a smile of your own. “Yeah, it’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.”

“Cut the formalities, I’m starving,” Kichi butted in with a heavy eye roll, grabbing one of the already made sandwiches and holding it in front of his face to inspect the ingredients. 

“That’s not yours,” you said, taking it out of his hands and placing it back on the plate. (That would be yours, you guessed.) “Here.” You handed him the sandwich you’d made for him, Nutella and bananas instead of the vegetables the rest of you had. 

His eyes widened, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say his cheeks were turning red. 

The four of you ate lunch at the kitchen table with much less tension then before, laughter and soft smiles filling the apartment. You were almost sad when they finally left, the company a welcome surprise from your usual routine. (Maybe this was what having friends was like? Laughter over freshly made sandwiches and easy conversation between sips of coffee. Wide eyes and happy stories, snowy window views and the steady drumming of the heater.)

Kichi had gone back to the movie from earlier, apparently eager to finish it. You walked over and took your spot from before, eyes already drooping with fatigue from all the social interaction.

“Tired?” Kichi asked, nudging you with his elbow.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. But I can stay awake, it’s alright.”

Kichi raised an eyebrow. “You think I’ll miss you that much? So egotistical, I swear.” He snickered. “Go take a nap, dummy.”

You frowned. “But I wanted to spend your birthday with you.”

He looked at you, an emotion in his eyes you couldn’t quite pinpoint. He sighed. “Y/n is so gullible.”

“It’s not your Birthday?”

He shook his head. “Nope! Just wanted a free cake, and I didn’t even get _that_.”

You glared at the movie. “That was a dick move.”

“I know,” he said, voice lacking its previous enthusiasm.

You turned to look at him, the sadness in his eyes too heavy for him to disguise it quickly enough. “There’s a reason you lied, though. Isn’t there?”

He pressed his mouth into a line, staring at the TV as if he was interested in what was happening. 

“Kichi.”

He turned to you with a sigh. “Look, this is embarrassing, so. Shut up and listen.”

You shut up and listened.

“When they gave me my memories back after 53, some of them didn’t take or something. I don’t know. They’d probably fix it if I told them but there’s no way in hell I’m going back," he mumbled, messing with the strands on the edge of his sleeve. With a heavy sigh, he pulled away and dropped his hands into his lap. “I can’t remember my birthday, okay? I made it up.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Well then it’s not technically a lie, right? If you don’t know when it is.” You tapped your finger against your chin. “Either way, who cares! Today’s your permanent birthday from now on, just because I say so,” you said, nodding as if to finalize it. 

“You gonna forge me a birth certificate?” He asked, the edge of his lips pulling up in an involuntary smile.

“If that’s what it takes, then sure,” you said, shrugging.

“If that’s what it takes for what?”

You looked away. “For you to be happy, I guess.”

You felt your hair being tucked behind your ear again, and you turned back to face Kichi, his body much closer than you remembered. He smiled. “Go take a nap, dummy. We can’t celebrate properly if you’re tired.” 

  
  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks so much for reading <3 Sorry for the wait on this chapter especially after a cliffhanger, as you can see it was longer than usual so it took some extra time! ~  
> P.S- Just wanted to pop in and let you guys know that I also have a Saiouma fic on my account if you're interested! Only the first two chapters are out currently but I'll try to update it as often as this one :)


	9. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You nodded, slowly raising your head to look up at him instead of his fingers that were meticulously pressing against the snowflakes in your scarf to melt them. 
> 
> You looked at his face, the snowflakes caught on his eyelashes and baby hairs, the pink flush on the tip of his nose, the worried crease between his purple eyebrows-
> 
> You spoke without thinking. “How much do you remember?”

It was easier than you thought it would be to fall into a routine with your purple-haired roommate.

You’d go to work in the morning with Kichi still sleeping in Miriana’s bed (you decided to let him take it over since you’d already gone through the trouble of changing the bedding), brew enough coffee for the both of you and leave his in the coffee pot to keep it warm, text the boy occasionally while at work to ask what he wanted for dinner and remind him to feed Muffin, and finally, come home at the end of the day to eat together and hang out.

Said hanging out usually involved Kichi beating you miserably at chess, playing card games that he had to teach you every time and also beat you miserably at, watching movies you could make fun of together, or listening to Kichi go on rants about made-up stories for hours on end.

You loved it.

What you didn’t love, however, was having to do his laundry every single day. 

You entered the apartment after a day at work, forgoing the usual routine of hanging your keys up on the hook and instead shaking them in the air to alert the boy laying on the living room floor of your presence.

He looked up at you, barely raising his head so as not to disturb the bearded dragon laying on his chest. “What?”

You walked over, sliding the keys into your pocket on the way and nodding back towards the door. “We’re going shopping. For clothes.”

He carefully took the lizard in his hands and stood up. “Good idea. You _sureee_ need them.”

You looked down at your outfit with a frown. “Not for me. For you, asshole. I’m tired of washing your stuff.”

You followed him as he walked into your room, watching as he carefully placed Muffin back into his cage and checked if he had enough water. (He did.)

Kichi turned to you with his arms crossed, leaning casually back against your bookcase. “I’m assuming we’re gonna use my money?” He said with an exasperated sigh.

“The money you stole from me, yes.” You grabbed a small backpack for your phone and wallet out of your closet, tossing Kichi one of your larger jackets while you were at it. 

He grumbled about it making him look like a little kid in hand-me-down clothes but shrugged it over his shoulders anyway. 

“Go grab the stolen backpack from wherever you hid it so we can go,” you called over your shoulder, already making your way to the front of the apartment. 

Pulling out your phone, you checked your messages to Rantaro and Shuichi for the fiftieth time that day. You’d wanted to check in with them after everything that happened with Kichi, but they had yet to respond since the day of the blizzard. You’d even texted Kaede to see if she heard from them and still no response from her side, either. You were sure if they wanted to cut ties with you at least Shuichi would be nice enough to let you know why, right?

Then again, you never really know people as well as you think you do.

You jumped as something flicked the back of your arm, whipping around to find Kichi with said backpack on and ready to go. (You really had no idea where he'd hidden it. You'd searched every corner of the apartment if only to one-up him by beating his supposedly "god-given hiding abilities", but every time you returned empty-handed.) He clutched at the straps with his hands, making him look even more like a little kid. “Well, we goin or what?”

\---

The mall went smoother than you expected, only having to go into ten different stores to find things he liked. (Honestly, you thought it'd be more like 30.) He'd ended up with a few shirts, another pair of pants, a jacket, and some super ugly neon-colored underwear that he'd made sure to shove in your face. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but most of the time your attention was distracted by the fact that the notifications on your phone were still empty. Kichi must have noticed, judging by the way he side-eyed you every time you pulled it out to check, but you were glad he had the decency to leave it alone. You'd tell him eventually, once you figured out what the reasoning was. That way he didn't have to deal with the same gut-wrenching unknown you were feeling at the moment. He didn't need that.

Kichi tugged on your arm as you exited the mall, pointing excitedly across the street. “Look! Let’s go!” 

You followed his finger, gaze landing on a park covered in blankets of snow and decorated with Christmas lights. The sun had set while you were shopping so the street lamps and strings of lights illuminated the paths through the trees in warm shades of color. You smiled softly. “Alright.”

The cold air pricked your skin as you walked through the trees, staying on the cleared off path of stones through the park. Red and green lights hung from the branches, flickering in a way that matched the music playing through speakers positioned on either side of the walkway. 

You realized pretty quickly that this was apparently a popular spot for couples. It made sense, the soft Christmas music floating through the air, the mood lighting from the brightly colored bulbs, the nearby coffee shops to warm you up after a cold stroll… Every pair that walked past you were holding hands, some stopping beside a lamppost to share a romantic kiss. 

(Well, you assumed _they_ saw it as romantic. From your point of view it was just plain awkward.)

Kichi walked with his head tilted towards the sky, smiling as he watched the flickering pattern of the lights change to the music. The cold didn’t seem to bother him anymore, even though with a quick glance you noticed that his cheeks and nose were flushed a soft pink. He was holding onto your arm like he had earlier in the mall, but his grip was less demanding than before. In his other hand was his shopping bag of clothes that he'd also thrown his backpack in (something you'd offered to carry earlier, but he took the invitation as an insult to his strength and promptly declined.)

“I hate Christmas,” Kichi said, his voice cheery and bright. He swung his arms back and forth as you walked together down the pathway, the bag hitting the back of his leg every once and awhile. 

“It’s pretty, though. All the decorations and stuff,” you mused, tilting your head up to watch the lights.

You walked past a couple making out on a bench and scrunched up your nose. Kichi apparently felt the same, making a _blegh_ noise loud enough for the couple to (most definitely) hear. “Everyone gets all lovey-dovey, though. It’s gross.”

You nodded in agreement. 

“Hey,” Kichi said, dropping his grip before playfully bumping your hip with his. He smiled maliciously as you stopped and turned to look at him, following his pointing finger to the clearing of snow beside the pathway. “Let’s have a snowball fight!”

Your eyes widened, the air around you suddenly feeling much colder. “Yeah, no. We’ll freeze to death.”

Kichi grabbed your hand and tried his best to drag you into the clearing, groaning in annoyance as your feet didn't so much as budge. “You’re no fun!”

“You don't even have gloves.” You held up your intertwined hands to prove your point, Kichi’s bare hand against your gloved one. (In your defense- you’d offered to give him one of your gloves earlier and he’d refused. You weren’t about to bring that up now, though, considering he’d probably jump on it as a way to do the snowball fight and you weren't in the mood to lose feeling in your fingers. And your arms. And your face.)

“Fine, but let's do it another time, okay?” He squeezed your hand, smiling wide enough that you couldn’t say no even if you wanted to. 

“Of course.”

You cringed as you realized he’d _definitely_ hold you to that.

He let go of your hand and let his arm fall back to his side, smile faltering. “Though I do have my evil schemes to get back to.” He hummed and held a finger up to his lips. “I am the leader of a 10,000 person organization, after all. They just can’t function without me! It would be anarchy… or something.”

You smiled sadly, your heart dropping into your stomach. “You can stay as long as you want, you know. I don’t think Miri would mind-”

“She would.”

You opened your mouth to protest before closing it and nodding. The realization hurt more than you’d like to admit. “Yeah. I guess she would.”

Kichi grabbed your arm again to lead the two of you down the path. “Anyways,” he said, resuming his swinging of the bag. “I've been thinking. You're letting me stay at your place and stuff, so I'm kinda in debt to you, right?”

You opened your mouth to protest about how he was most definitely _not_ in debt to you, but he cut you off before you got the chance.

“I hate it. So, I'm gonna make it even.” He glanced at you as if making sure your full attention was on him, the edges of his lips pulled into a frown. “You wanna know more about me, right? Well, ask me a question and I'll answer it. That'll fulfill my debt.” The frown turned into an expression of contempt, his lips pressed together tightly. “Just one, though.”

You stopped walking.

The knot in your stomach tightened as your mind cycled through the list of questions in your head. You tried not to think about them most of the time, but as this opportunity presented itself, the realization that you knew little to nothing about him came to light. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. _Why did you sign up for Danganronpa?_ You stared at the wisps of his hair falling in his face. _How long have you lived on the streets?_ You watched him blink slowly at you with his wide, purple eyes. 

_Why don’t you stay forever?_

You let out a foggy breath to compose yourself, opting to look at the lights in the distance rather than the boy in front of you. It felt like you were invading his privacy by asking anything at all, the relationship the two of you had an easily breakable thing in your hands. Only time would tell if that was true, but you didn’t want to take the risk. Still, he felt like he had a debt to pay and was openly asking for a question from you to fix it. Just one wouldn’t hurt anything, right? 

Just one.

“How did you get both of those injuries?”

Silence fell over both of you, heavy and suffocating. And then he giggled. 

“That's technically _two_ questions.”

You glared at him. “Well I phrased it as one, so it's one,” you said, unbeknownst to him also internally scolding yourself for not realizing your mistake. You thought of the two instances as a pair, after all. (Maybe if you stuck to your guns he’d let it slide? I mean, you _did_ find a way to phrase it as one. Even if it was unintentional.)

He squeezed your arm tighter between his fingers to the point where it was almost painful, leaning closer to your face until your noses were almost touching. “You're insufferable.”

“I'm surprised you know that word.”

And then he pushed you. 

You fell backward, desperately reaching out to grab for anything to stop your fall. Kichi was quick to move out of reach, but his bag of clothes trailed lazily behind him, giving you just enough time to grab onto it and pull him down with you. 

(Kichi wasn’t stupid, he’d purposefully pushed you towards the grass with the knowledge that it wouldn't hurt all that much. He hadn’t accounted for you managing to pull him down with you, though. Any pain that resulted from that was on _you_.)

You landed on your back in the few inches of snow that had accumulated, the white powder covering your body like a wave. You didn’t have long to adjust to the change, however, because soon enough the consequences of your actions fell on you. 

Literally fell on you. 

Kichi weighed little to nothing, but his innate instinct to cushion his fall caused him to jut out his elbow in a way that caused it to collide with your ribs. In addition to that, the position he landed in resulted in your skulls knocking together. 

You whimpered in pain as you tugged your arm out of the snow to press your hand against your head, vision blurry as an imaginary drumbeat in your ears and your forehead throbbed from the collision.

Kichi shifted his position so he wasn't digging into your ribs anymore but rather laying flat with his head resting on your shoulder. He was also holding a hand against his forehead in pain, whimpering under his breath as if he didn't want you to hear.

You stared at the top of his head for a few seconds, vision now blurry with tears you were trying to hold back. His hair tickled your cheeks, the strands already covered in cold snowflakes. 

All at once, you both started laughing. 

Kichi rolled over so he was lying beside you, your arms still pressed against each other as you laughed loud enough to cover up the sounds of the Christmas music in the air, the lights now following the symphony of your voices. 

You held your hand up to your mouth to calm the giggling, taking deep breaths to regain any sort of composure. The laughter had further aggravated the headache you developed, and with a slight wince, you slowly turned your still pounding head to look at Kichi.

He wasn’t laughing anymore either. He lay staring at the sky, his eyes seemingly fixated on something in the distance. 

You turned to look up as well, staring into the dark void of space. You followed an airplane as it traveled over the city with your gaze.

“The first one was really stupid,” Kichi said suddenly, eyes never leaving the sky. “Some guys tried to rob me but I didn't have anything to give them. They got mad. Usually, I'd be quick enough to get away but I was about to pass out from not eating at that point, so it was easy for them to get a cut in.”

You resisted the urge to look at him, scared that any reminder of the reality of your presence would break the spell. You were practically holding your breath.

Kichi sighed as he let a loud gust of air out of his nose. “The second one’s a bit more complicated. You remember DICE?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Your organization in Danganronpa?”

You felt him nod. “I think they’re real,” he said, voice nearly too soft for you to hear. You wondered if he even wanted you to hear at all.

You kept quiet like the last time, once again worried that any reminder of the person beside him would snap him out of the haze of honesty he’d fallen into. Selfishly, you wanted him to continue. You wanted him to keep talking without regard for your presence and let out everything that you assumed he’d never told another person before. 

Instead, he turned to you, head propped up on his elbow. His teeth tore at the skin on his bottom lip, chapped from the cold. They took a break only when he spoke. “You think I'm stupid.”

Your eyes widened as you quickly tried to imitate his position, the snow around you shifting in protest. “No, I don't,” you said with what you imagined to be conviction. You tried your best to remember what you learned about Danganronpa from your time working there. There wasn’t much they’d told you about how everything worked, so all you knew was what the contestants themselves did as well as their own speculation. (Thankfully, most of the contestants were too smart for their own good.) “The fake memories were based on real ones, right?”

“Yeah. My memories are all fucked up, though,” he said, the words followed by a half-hearted laugh. His teeth continued their assault on his bottom lip as he lifted his free hand to brush the snowflakes off your scarf. “But the ones about DICE feel… different. They feel real.”

You nodded, slowly raising your head to look up at him instead of his fingers that were meticulously pressing against the snowflakes in your scarf to melt them. 

You looked at his face, the snowflakes caught on his eyelashes and baby hairs, the pink flush on the tip of his nose, the worried crease between his purple eyebrows-

You spoke without thinking. “How much do you remember?”

He noticed the slip up immediately, smirking as if he’d foiled some secret plan of yours. “ _That's_ another question.”

You looked away, already feeling awful about prying. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know how long went by before he spoke again. Maybe just another song. Maybe two. But eventually, his voice filled the air, and you had never been happier to hear it.

“Guess you’ll just have to get me in debt to you again,” he said teasingly, tugging on your scarf. “You're so nosy, y/n.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, one eyebrow raised at the hypocrisy of his statement. “You're the one that stole my journal.”

He snickered. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

His fingers stopped their snowflake melting to trail up your neck, eventually landing on your cheek. His skin felt soft and cold and you leaned into the touch with a soft smile. 

He pulled away and scrambled to standing, retrieving his bag of clothing from where it fell earlier. 

He held out his hand to you. “Let's go home.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff before everything goes to hell


	10. Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only personalization was a small picture frame on the bedside table of Shuichi, Rantaro, and Kaede- the trio close together with their arms around each other, smiling at the camera without a care in the world. But you knew that wasn’t true. 
> 
> Happiness was just funny like that. Gone as quickly as it comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attack  
> \--> chapter summary in the ending notes if you wish to skip

**Rantaro Amami (2:54 AM)**

You know how to stop a panic attack, right?

Please say you do

_ 2 Missed Calls _

Shit sorry im here

I should be able to help, whats wrong??

It’s Shuichi. He has anxiety but he's never been this bad before

What happened

554 Oakleigh Dr

Long story. Tell you when you're here

Please

I can bring some meds. Be there soon

Is it okay if K comes?

I actually think he needs to.

\---

You both jumped out of your car and slammed the doors behind you, the sound echoing through the empty streets of the city. You’d pulled up to a small townhouse, the type of thing that old retired couples lived in when they wanted to save on rent. Despite that, it looked brand new, every inch of it spotless and painted a dark, navy blue that looked almost black under the blanket of night.

Kichi and you ran to the ornately detailed front door. You held up your keys and frantically pressed the lock button on the receiver until your car successfully beeped back at you. Meanwhile, Kichi was knocking on the door far more intensely than needed.

But you weren’t about to tell him that. 

Kaede opened it, widening her eyes at the breathless state that both of you were in. 

(Or maybe it was because of the purple-haired boy beside you. You’d never gotten to ask if Rantaro and Shuichi had spilled the beans or not.)

You opened your mouth to greet her or say anything really to fix the silence that hung heavy in the air, but Kichi was never one for formalities, and he shoved past the blonde before stalking into the house like he knew where he was going. 

You muttered an apology under your breath to Kaede before following closely behind, swiveling your head back and forth for any sign of Rantaro or Shuichi. Your fingers clutched the faux-leather strap of a messenger bag, knuckles turning white. 

After seconds that felt like hours, a green head of hair poked out from behind a door. “He’s in here,” he whispered. 

(Maybe you guys should’ve tried to be quieter earlier. Oops.)

You swallowed hard despite your dry mouth and nodded, walking over to the boy with heavy footsteps. Kichi trailed behind you, but judging by the pointed look on Rantaro’s face, he was expected to stay behind. 

You turned slightly to meet his eyes, mostly to assure him that things would be fine, but he’d already intertwined your fingers for a quick squeeze of reassurance before disappearing to what looked like the living room. 

It calmed your nerves more than you’d like to admit. 

You entered into a medium-sized bedroom, a platform bed with baby blue sheets in the center. Just like everything else, the room was clean and looked brand new, free from clutter (or any signs of life at all, if you were being honest). The only personalization was a small picture frame on the bedside table of Shuichi, Rantaro, and Kaede- the trio close together with their arms around each other, smiling at the camera without a care in the world. But you knew that wasn’t true. 

Happiness was just funny like that. Gone as quickly as it comes. 

Shuichi was nowhere in sight, but as your eyes scanned your surroundings they landed on a slightly cracked door that could only be the bathroom. Artificial light spilled out onto the hardwood floors. He was in there, of course he was. 

You knocked lightly before entering.

Shuichi was curled up in the far corner as his entire body trembled. His arms wrapped around his legs as tight as they possibly could, his frame contorted in an unnatural manner meant to make him as small as possible. His dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Shuichi looked up at you as you walked over with silent footsteps, his eyes red and glassy with tears. 

The sound of his hyperventilating breath echoed against the pristine, white tiles of the bathroom.

“Hey Saihara,” you said gently. “You’re gonna be fine, alright? I’m here to help.”

You crouched down beside him, unhooking your bag from your shoulder and placing it on the floor. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” he whispered, voice hoarse as if it pained him to speak. He squeezed his eyes shut as more tears streamed down his cheeks, the droplets eventually slipping off his jaw and further soaking his sweat covered clothes. 

“I know it does, but you’re gonna be perfectly fine. I promise.” 

You watched as the boy in front of you tried to catch his breath, failing in his attempts to calm himself. With his panic, the hyperventilating got worse. His eyes opened, wide and terrified, and shifted to you as if to say ‘It’s not working. I can’t get it to stop.’

You placed your hand on his back, rubbing small circles with your fingers that you hoped would be comforting. “I’m gonna need you to count your breathing with me, okay? It sounds dumb but it works. Pinky swear.”

His hands shook as he slowly untangled them from his legs to place his palms over his chest. 

You knew how much it hurt. 

“Breath in for four,” you said, mentally counting along how you hoped Shuichi was as well. “Hold it for seven.” The movement of your fingers on his back moved in time with your counting, small circles being made with your thumb every second that passed. “And breathe out for eight.”

Shuichi’s breath came out ragged and shallow, but it was a start. 

“Breath in for four…”

You continued until the hyperventilating calmed down, repeating the string of three numbers for what felt like hours. It might’ve been, you didn’t know. You knew that your voice hurt from all the talking, but that thought was in the back of your mind, irrelevant.  You removed your hand from his back, watching as Shuichi wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in an attempt to remove the hair that was stuck to it. 

You grabbed your bag and pulled out the few things you’d brought. “Here. If you’d like I brought a pill that I can give you to calm the anxiety. Are you on any medications right now?” You uncapped the bottle and poured a few pills into your hand, dropping the excess back in before recapping it and sliding it back into your bag.

He shook his head. 

“Any drugs?”

He shook his head.

“Did you drink today?”

He shook his head.

“Sorry. Gotta ask,” you said with a soft smile, gently taking his hand and placing the pill in his palm. You handed him the water that you’d also brought and watched as he took it and downed most of the bottle afterward. “Good. That should help get rid of the lingering physical symptoms and calm you down a bit. For now, I think it would be best if you took a cold shower and tried to get some sleep.”

He held the water bottle against his chest, his previously wild eyes now practically vacant. “I don’t want to go back. I can’t go back.” 

You pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. He was definitely overheating. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright, okay? For now, let's not worry about the outside world and just worry about you and how you're feeling. That’s the most important thing.” You slung your bag over your shoulder and stood up to look through the cabinets for a towel, grabbing the one that looked the fluffiest and putting it on the counter by the sink. “You’re really strong for getting through that, Shuichi. I promise you’ll feel much better if you let your body cool down a bit, alright?”

He looked up at you from his place on the floor, fingers shaking as he placed the water bottle down beside him, You held out a hand to help him up and he took it hesitantly before raising himself to stand with wobbly legs.  He was covered in sweat, his clothes sticking to his body. His face was practically drained of color. The boy looked terrified, no longer at himself, but at something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Shuichi started talking before you could further analyze it.

“Thank you, so much. I… that’s never happened to me before and-”

“Hey, it's alright. No worries.” You smiled reassuringly. “If you want we can talk about it more tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some rest. So you know what happened and you know what to expect in case it happens again?”

He nodded. “Yeah I- I’d really like that.”

“Consider it done then. Now take care of yourself, Shuichi. Please.”

You took one last look at his glazed over eyes and tear-stained cheeks before leaving. It hurt your heart to leave him alone, but sometimes being alone was for the best. Some people healed better in the absence of others, and from your observations of Shuichi, you assumed he was like that even if he didn't know it yet.

As you shut the door to his bedroom softly behind you and leaned against it, you were met with four more people then you’d left behind. The unfamiliar faces turned to you and as you really took them in, you realized that they weren’t unfamiliar at all. 

Well this couldn't be good. 

Rantaro walked over to you, leaving the rest of the group including Kaede talking in hushed voices on the other side of the room. He wrung his hands nervously in front of him. “How is he?”

You tore your gaze away from the group, trying to ignore the piercing red eyes of one of the girls still looking at you. “He’ll be fine. The worst of it is over and I gave him something to calm him down. He’s taking a shower now and I told him to get some rest afterward, so if you could make sure he does I’d appreciate it.”

Rantaro nodded eagerly, probably happy to finally help Shuichi in some way besides dragging you here. “Yeah. I can do that.”

As your initial curiosity for the new faces settled, your thoughts shifted to one important face that was missing. (The most important face period, as far as you were concerned.) “Where’s Kichi?”

Rantaro quirked an eyebrow, probably at what he thought was an endearing nickname (was it a nickname at this point? Should you stop calling him that? Did he  _ want _ you to stop calling him that?), before gesturing towards an adjacent room of the house. “We’re gonna explain everything soon, but we were hoping you could, uh, soften the blow?”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “What?”

He chuckled softly, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. “We invited the others but they don’t know that Ouma’s here. Or that he’s even alive, really. I already told them who you are and that your roommate is someone from 53 but I didn’t tell them who, so.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You’re up.”

You didn’t spare him a response before stalking to the room where Kichi supposedly was, the smell of sugar and coffee grounds immediately hitting you as you opened the door.  It was a medium-sized kitchen full of black marble countertops and dark wood cabinets- sleek and sophisticated, the kind of kitchen you saw in homeowners' magazines. 

Guess you knew how Shuichi spent his earnings now. 

Kichi sat on the marble island in the middle of the room, munching on sugar cookies. They were on a glass platter with saran wrap that Kichi had pulled halfway off, giving the impression that they were probably homemade. 

Your first thought was: does Shuichi  _ bake _ ?

Your second thought was: Rantaro’s trying really hard to woo him, huh?

“How’s my dearest Shumai?” Kichi asked, a mouthful of sugar cookie. He was never one for manners. 

You walked over and pulled yourself up to sit on the island beside him, both of you dangling your legs over the edge. “He’ll be fine.” You reached over his lap to grab a cookie, carefully inspecting it before taking a bit. (It was good. Of course it was.) “But what the actual  _ fuck _ is going on?”

Kichi’s eyes widened. “Y/n! You’ve never had such a potty mouth before! I guess I’ll just have to punish you when we get home, huh?” He waggled his eyebrows at you. 

You took another bite of the sugar cookie with a blank expression, barely sparing him a glance.

He groaned. “You’re no fun. But I guess because you helped Shumai…” He tapped a finger against his bottom lip. “I’ll answer your question since you’re clearly too dumb to figure it out yourself!”

You ignored the jab. You took another bite of cookie. 

“Kaede and Rantaro- and probably Shuichi originally before he went totally bonkers- gathered everyone here to tell us some super exciting important top-secret information!” He spread his arms out wide when he said this, beaming from ear to ear. 

You noticed the twitching in his fingers, and once you did, it was all that you could focus on. “They want me to introduce you to the others,” you mused, eyes scanning for other signs of discomfort on the boy.

He wasn’t kicking his feet. Shouldn’t he be kicking his feet?

He was being awfully quiet too, now that you thought about it. What happened to the obnoxiously loud boy from earlier, banging on the front door?

“Introduce? But we’ve already met,” Kichi whined, folding his body forward in an attempt to touch his toes. “Am I really that forgettable? And after all I did for them. The Ultimate Supreme Leader who single handedly-”

“Introduce you as my roommate, I mean,” you said, effectively cutting him off. “To soften the blow, as Rantaro put it.”

His bottom lip jutted out in a pout as he let his feet fall back against the cabinet and sat up straight again. “Does big brother Amami really h-hate m-m-me that-”

You jumped off the island with an exasperated sigh and grabbed him by his hand to lead him out of the kitchen. Pausing before opening the door, you turned around and wiped the many cookie crumbs around his mouth and on his shirt.

He snickered. “What are you, my mommy?” 

You squeezed his hand just tight enough to be painful as you continued flicking crumbs off his collar.

He squealed and frantically shook your intertwined hands in an attempt to escape your grip. “Okay, okay! Not my mommy!”

He was ridiculous, you thought.  And then, I love him.

Your eyes widened and you ceased brushing away the crumbs, quickly dropping your other arm to your side. 

(No, you loved  _ it _ . That’s what you meant. You loved his jokes and his stupid personality. Yeah, that’s all.

That’s all.)

With a heavy sigh, you reached to grab the doorknob. “Ready?”

Kichi squeezed your hand. “When am I not, beloved?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Rantaro texts Reader asking for them to come over and help Shuichi, who he says is having a panic attack. He asks for Kokichi to come as well. They arrive at Shuichi's house and Reader goes to his room while Kokichi stays behind. Reader tries to help Shuichi who is not doing well, calming him down and instructing him to take a shower and rest. Reader leaves the bedroom to find that there are four more suspiciously familiar people in the house now. Rantaro tells Reader that they should introduce Kokichi to the others since they don't know he's there. Reader goes to the kitchen where Kokichi is. Kokichi tells them that Kaede and Rantaro gathered them there to tell them important news. They go to leave the kitchen.


	11. Aching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone had questions. Rantaro and Kaede had very few answers.

Kichi couldn’t help but giggle, and you didn’t blame him.

It was like a scene from a bad movie. Every head in the room turned to the boy beside you as their faces lit up with bitter recognition. Furrowed eyebrows, glaring eyes, fingers clenched into fists-

Kichi dropped your hand to lazily rest his arms behind his head. “What’s up, fuckers?” 

The room erupted into chaos.

As the four newcomers started yelling various things you didn’t have the energy to focus on, and two of the girls began stalking over with piercing gazes that sent chills down your spine- your eyes met Rantaro’s through the madness. 

His mouth was pressed into a thin line, eyes filled with sympathy. 

So much for softening the blow, huh?

The red-eyed girl you’d caught glaring at you earlier was dangerously close now, her expression full of something you didn’t trust. Now that you could see her clearer, you recognized her face from the show. Maki Harukawa.

Okay, case closed, you _definitely_ didn't trust her.

You held out one of your arms protectively in front of Kichi, the small boy smiling wide at the gesture as he looked between you and Maki. She was directly in front of him now, the other angry girl close behind her. (Was that Tenko Chabashira? Her hair’s dark green, but it’s clipped to her shoulders now, framing her face in a different way. Suits her better.)

Kichi dropped his arms from behind his head, instead holding one of his fingers up to his lips in a pose that you recognized from the show. “Tough luck, Maki. I’ve got my own personal bodyguard now! They kind of suck, but it’s the thought that-”

She grabbed his throat and lifted him off the ground in one swift motion.

“Makiroll, stop!” A man with dark purple hair ran over, grabbing the girl by her shoulders in a way that you found far too gentle for the current circumstances. You recognized him as Kaito Momota, someone who you’d thought treated Maki far too cautiously in the show as well.

But then again, maybe you were biased.

Kichi’s hands were clawing at his throat as he gasped for air, but despite that, he was smiling widely with a sadistic glint in his eyes. If you didn’t know him, you’d probably think it was terrifying. 

You wrapped your arms around his waist and tried to pull him out of her grip despite knowing it was in vain. At least he wouldn't drop to the floor when she decided to let go.

Right?

Kaito continued to coax her, and eventually, all of Kichi’s weight fell against you. You stumbled backward and tightened your grip around his waist, trying your best to stabilize yourself as the boy did nothing to help. (Seriously. What was that about?) When you were sure neither of you were going to fall, you sighed and put him on the floor before untangling your arms and stepping away.

“Wow, it’s just like old times again,” Kichi said brightly, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders. “Maki being a crazy, sadistic, murderous, bitch!”

Thankfully, Kaito still had his hands on her shoulders to hold her back.

You don’t want to know what would’ve happened if he didn’t.

“How dare you talk to Maki like that you degenerate male,” Tenko growled as she stalked over, her pale face red with anger.

This was absolutely _not_ going to plan.

“Tenko, so nice to see you again! I see you’re just as-”

“Everyone shut up!” 

The command rang through the house, silencing all of the bickerings in one swift sentence. 

You turned to the source of the voice along with the others, surprised to find it belonged to the typically well-mannered Kaede. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, clutching at the fabric of her pink skirt. 

She took a deep breath. “This is _not_ why we’re here. We have some really important things to discuss, and Kokichi’s smart mouth _isn’t_ one of them.”

The said purple-haired boy whined beside you. “Awh, man.”

Kaede walked into the center of everyone, placing her hands squarely on her hips in an attempt to feign confidence. Her voice shook as she continued to speak. “If everyone could please settle down and put aside your differences for just a bit, I’d really _really_ appreciate it.”

She was like an exasperated mother, you thought.

Kichi leaned his head on your shoulder, all of his weight pressed against you for the second time that day. He was lucky he was tiny. You both probably would’ve ended up with concussions by now if not. “She’s annoying, huh?” He whispered harshly in your ear.

You rolled your eyes and elbowed him in the ribs, eliciting a loud "ow!"

Kaede ushered everyone to sit in the living room, nervous and flighty with every movement she made. Kichi and you took a cushiony chair to the side of the room, his small frame making it possible for both of you to squeeze together in a way that you found oddly comforting against the judgemental glares of the others. You were used to sitting together on your small couch that was often cluttered with pillows and snacks, you wanted to say. You were used to standing side by side in the kitchen as he tried to distract you to mess up your cooking. 

That’s it, alright?

Maki and Kaito sat together on the largest couch, a good foot of distance between them that Kaito slowly scooted closer to diminish. Tenko and a red-haired girl (Himiko Yumeno, right?) sat on the adjacent couch, close enough that their arms and legs pressed together. 

Kaede and Rantaro stood in the middle of everyone, their expressions downcast. 

“Tsumugi visited us a few hours ago,” Rantaro said, breaking the silence. 

The air in the room was much heavier than before. 

Kaede picked up a folder of papers from the living room table, holding it away from her body as if it would lash out and wound her with its mere existence. “Just… look at the papers,” she said, walking over to Tenko and Himiko first and handing them the folder. 

Tenko took it and flipped quickly through the pages, her expression softening into something of confusion as she slowed down her movements. 

Confusion, and then fear.

“A… reunion season?” She whispered. 

Rantaro nodded. “We agreed to it in our initial contracts.”

“No, we didn’t!” Kaito cried as he jumped to standing. He put his hand on Maki’s shoulder. “We’d never agree to something like that.”

“Still dumb as always, I see,” Kichi muttered. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to laugh this time. 

“We double-checked our copies and yeah, we all did,” Rantaro said, his voice tense. He fiddled with the rings on his left hand, twisting them up and down on his fingers. “In the hundreds of pages we signed, one of them was agreeing to come back for another season if the demand was high enough. It’s never happened before, so we probably thought it was just a formality. Nothing to worry about.”

The folder had made its way to Kaito on the next couch, Maki grabbing it out of his hand with a huff before he had a chance to look. Her eyes scanned the first page as her mouth pressed into a thin line. “They want the most popular contestants from the two highest-ranking seasons to come back,” she said, effectively summarizing what you assumed was the just of everything.

Kichi raised his hand in the air like he was in a classroom. “Yoo-hoo! Most popular season 53 contestant here waiting _patiently_ for my turn!”

Maki’s eyes slanted into a death glare as she handed the folder to Kaito. He walked over and held it out for Kichi to take. “You never do anything patiently,” he said, his voice almost playful. Almost teasing. 

Kichi snatched it from his hand and flipped it open to a random page, tapping a finger against his bottom lip in thought as he scanned the words.

“Thanks,” you mumbled halfheartedly as you tried to read over Kichi’s shoulder.

“No, problem!” Kaito said, holding out his hand to your dismay. A bright smile hung on his face despite the tension in the air. “Sorry we never got to introduce ourselves. I’m Kaito Momota.”

You nodded and shook his hand tentatively. “F/n l/n.”

He pointed to the brown-haired girl on the couch, her red eyes trained on Kichi. “That’s Harumaki.” 

She didn’t react.

Kaito shifted his finger to point to the other two girls. “The green hair is Tenko Chabashira, and the red hair is Himiko Yumeno.” He dropped his hand and stuffed it into his pocket. “Sorry about the harsh introduction earlier, we weren’t really expecting, uh…” 

Kichi cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “Your worst enemy? Your formidable foe? Your arch-nemesis, perhaps?” 

Kaito frowned. “Not really, no. You’re just really off-putting Kokichi, and well, Maki doesn’t really have the best memories of you and… yeah.” He laughed nervously, reaching up to rub his hand against his jaw. “But I think we can all agree that we need each other more than ever, so let’s start over, alright?”

Kaito beamed, holding out his hand for Kichi to shake.

You heard someone groan. 

Kichi looked up from the papers that he was still meticulously reading, finger tracing the lines as he did. “Nah, I’m good,” he said cheerfully, looking back down immediately. 

“Leave him alone, Kaito,” Himiko muttered, her soft voice only audible due to the heavy silence of the room. “He doesn’t want your help.”

Kaito dropped his hand. “Alright… for now! But I won't give up on you Kokichi!”

“Good luck with that,” Kichi muttered, flipping to the next page. 

You read over his shoulder as Rantaro and Kaede continued with their explanation of everything, recounting their meeting with Tsumugi Shirogane and everything that she’d told them. She’d apparently shown up to talk to Shuichi only, but was overjoyed when she found Rantaro and Kaede there as well. According to them, she was meeting with everyone she wanted to recruit for the reunion season, handing out the contracts and inciting fear in their hearts. Kaede and Rantaro wanted to invite everyone close by from season 53 so they could warn them, which was the reason for the meeting.

So they don’t end up like Shuichi, you thought. But you didn’t say that.

Everyone had questions. Rantaro and Kaede had very few answers.

“What’s the other season she’s taking from?”

“We think Goodbye Despair, but she wouldn’t tell us.”

“Is there any way out of it?”

“The contract is binding, as we know. Going against it would probably end you up in jail.”

“Jail’s better than Danganronpa.”

“You say that now. Wait until Tsumugi gets you forty years with her bullshit claims.”

“There’s nothing else in our contract that we don’t know about, right?”

“I don’t know. We’ve been reading it over to try and see.”

Kichi was surprisingly quiet during the conversation, not speaking a word as the others tossed questions back and forth. You glanced at him, his eyelids heavy with fatigue as he stared at his hands in his lap. 

You nudged him with your elbow. “Wanna head out?” You whispered.

He nodded, still not looking at you.

You said goodbyes for the both of you, Kichi continuing with his silence as you headed to the car and climbed inside. The engine roared to life, and you pulled out into the empty streets without a word.

\---

When you got back to the house, Kichi immediately headed for his room.

“Wait.” You grabbed onto his arm, ignoring the glare that he gave you in return.

He shook off your grasp. “What?”

You flinched at his tone. In your head, you tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t really you, that it had nothing to do with you. He was just upset. As he should be. As everyone was. 

It wasn’t really you.

You stared at the ground, gaze landing on a small stain in the hardwood that you'd have to clean later. “She doesn’t know where you are. You can hide here and- and…” You trailed off, squeezing your eyes shut to prevent the inevitable tears. “I won’t let them take you again,” you whispered, shaking your head as if that somehow meant something. As if by saying the words out loud it somehow made them true.

It didn’t. It couldn’t. 

“There’s nothing we can do if they find me. And they will.” His voice was devoid of emotion, heavy in the air and suffocating to your heart.

“Don’t say that."

“What? I can’t say the truth?” He blew a loud gust of air out of his nose, the sound almost mocking. “Everything that comes out of my goddamn mouth just has to be a lie, right?”

You jerked your head up to look at him. His eyes had that crazy glint in them again, the kind of look that scared you, even if you knew it didn’t mean anything. It was the kind of look that pushed people away in the show and continued to push them away to this day. 

But it wasn’t going to push you away. You wouldn’t let it.

You bit at the skin on your lower lip, brain clouded with every emotion in the book as Kichi looked back at you with seemingly none. “Even if they do find you. None of you are going back on that show. You're just not.”

You barely believed the words yourself, but someone had to, right? If you said them enough times, wrote them enough times, thought them enough times- maybe the universe would do you a favor. (No, not you. You knew that you sure as hell didn't deserve it. But Kokichi Ouma? He deserved a favor from the universe, and one of these days he was going to have to get it.)

“It’s either Danganronpa or _jail_ ,” he said, the words followed by a halfhearted giggle. (It was bad acting, bad casting, bad dialogue. The part didn't suit him right, and the giggle settled eerily in the air like clothes that didn't quite fit.) “If you’d asked me a few months ago, I would’ve said jail was just fine, but now…” He trailed off and stared at you blankly, wide purple eyes filled with exhaustion. You remembered how off he was acting earlier, his twitching fingers and too soft voice.

Did he know what he was there for the whole time?

Did he sit on the kitchen island, eating sugar cookies, knowing without a doubt that he was going to be forced back into Danganronpa?

Did he laugh with you anyways?

“What?” You asked, wondering what made _now_ any different than before. 

You didn’t expect him to answer, so when he responded with “nevermind” and walked into his room without another word, you didn’t feel surprised. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day, wow! These started as only one, but I decided to split it up to give Shuichi the attention he deserved in the last one :)


	12. Scars (Bonus Chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kichi refused to take the items in your outstretched arms, smiling devilishly as he gestured to the open fitting room. “Just set them down inside.”
> 
> You didn’t trust his tone. Or his expression. Or really anything about him right now. 
> 
> With a concerned eyebrow raised, you walked into the fitting room and placed the clothes on the small chair, immediately turning to leave. 
> 
> You were met with Kichi slipping inside and locking the door behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :) I just thought I'd update you since I'm not posting as quickly as I used to. I'm going through a tough time right now mental health-wise, as I'm sure many of us are, so it might be a week or two before I can get out the next actual chapter.  
> I decided to post a little 'bonus chapter' of just pure fluff and shenanigans to lighten the mood for all of us. This was originally supposed to be in chapter 9 (Amnesia), set before they leave the mall, but I felt like it was overkill and didn't add much to the plot. I went ahead and revised it a bit into something I liked more, so here it is!  
> I wish you all the best, and thank you so much for your comments and kudos, they always brighten my day, something I really need right now.  
> Anyways- enough about me. Please enjoy! :) <3

The two of you walked down the stairs to the parking lot. 

As you stepped out into the cold air, Kichi immediately let go of his backpack straps and shoved his hands in his jacket. You pulled your pair of gloves out of your pocket and slipped one on, holding the other out to Kichi in an unspoken gesture. 

He scrunched up his nose in disgust and harshly shoved your hand away. It left you with both of the gloves, and you shrugged your shoulders before putting the other on. (He was definitely going to complain about his hands being cold later.)

It wasn’t currently snowing outside, but there was plenty leftover from the blizzard. With a groan, you noticed the piled up snow on your car, the white flakes covering the windshield and rendering it opaque.

“Help me get it off,” you whined, dragging out the words in exasperation. You nudged the boy beside you to draw his attention to the mounds of white. 

“Leaders don’t do physical labor, sorry.” He shrugged, teeth chattering intensely and ruining his nonchalant demeanor. “You’re on your own, bud.”

He was definitely going to use the excuse of not having gloves, so you didn’t even bother asking again.

The two of you trudged through the snow to where your car was, Kichi’s sneakers likely getting ruined once it started to melt. You were wearing your favorite snow boots- a black pair that went up to your knees, the inside coated with faux fur that was pretty shades of grey and white- but neither Miri or you had had extra pairs that would fit him. (How was he so _small_?) 

He seemed intent on wearing his checkered sneakers, anyways. 

You unlocked the car and grabbed the snow brush and ice scraper out of the back. With a loud sigh, you mentally prepared yourself to use up all your energy for the day in getting rid of snow as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to just hop into the heated vehicle. Kichi was already sitting happily in the passenger seat, supposedly “providing moral support” as you scraped relentlessly at the windshield.

Providing moral support apparently meant blowing on the glass to fog it up and drawing dicks. 

With a huff, you slid into the driver's side and closed the door, tugging off your gloves and holding your hands up to the air vents to heat them. The ordeal had taken even longer than you expected, having to move some of the snow from in front of the tires as well. (Maybe it really was worth it to pay for your car to stay in a parking garage.)

“Geeze, so dramatic,” Kichi said with a snicker, leaning back in his seat and admiring his windshield artwork. “You know, when I was running from the Russian mafia I had to sleep in the streets sometimes. And lemme tell you, this little bit of snow? _Nothing_ compared to winters in Moscow-”

The story continued as you drove to the local mall, getting progressively crazier as it went on. You humored him, asking questions and picking at the inconsistencies if only to see how he’d cover them up. He always did, somehow, but you thought that maybe one day you’d be able to stump him. 

So, you kept trying. 

“-I already _told_ you. The second in command was totally gay for me, and that’s why he helped me escape.”

The two of you entered through the front doors of the mall, the heat of the building immediately washing over you. 

It wasn’t the nicest place in the world, but you figured picking a place with the largest amount of shops was the best bet, considering you had no idea what his style was. (You had nothing to go off of, after all. His clothing currently consisted of a black long sleeve shirt and black jeans that had long since past their prime. Not to mention the intensely dirtied checkered sneakers.)

You hummed as you scanned the nearby shops. “I thought it was the leader’s son that was gay for you?”

“They’re the same person, duh.”

You snickered. He was always quick about his responses, and most of the time it seemed like he just said the first thing that came to his mind. “Don’t you think you should’ve told me that first? It's kind of important plot-wise...” You trailed off as you noticed Kichi’s expression turn blank. Following his line of sight, you saw two people sitting on a nearby bench and chatting. 

Kichi grabbed your arm and dragged you towards one of the clothing stores before you could get a good look at them. The only thing you remembered was the long, brown hair of the girl, the fact that the other was a boy, and the height difference between the pair. 

You stumbled over your feet as you struggled to keep up with Kichi. 

Once you were a fair distance away, his expression went back to normal, sparkling eyes and a scrunched up nose as he smiled at you. “One person gay for me, two people gay for me, who cares? What _matters_ is I'm so irresistible that my charm and good looks got me out of a Russian _prison_.” 

You nodded with a smirk on your lips as the two of you entered the doors of the shop. Any response you had started to form immediately left your mind as Kichi tugged you roughly towards the displays. You let him pull you through the store as he tapped a finger against his chin in thought, surprisingly staying quiet even after five minutes of walking around aimlessly. 

The two of you stood once again at the entrance, still empty-handed. 

“I hate everything here. Let's leave.”

You groaned. “We can't take that long in every store. Not unless you buy something.”

Kichi pulled you out of the current shop and towards another, making sure to go the opposite way of the pair on the bench, you noticed. “What’s the hurry, got plans more important than me?”

You tried to inconspicuously look over your shoulder at the girl and boy, but they were out of your sight too quickly with how fast you were being dragged. You sighed. “No, I just hate shopping.”

A pout formed on his lips as you entered through another pair of glass doors. “You’re no fun. I should’ve known you’d be _that_ type.”

You scoffed in offense. “What _type_?”

He ignored your question, pulling you with him to a display of neon clothing before finally letting go of your arm. You rubbed it in slight pain as you watched him shuffle through the shirts. Whenever he found one he liked he’d toss it over his shoulder, obviously expecting you to catch it. It caught you off guard the first time, but after the fourth you just stood patiently behind him, arms already outstretched in preparation. 

A stark contrast to the last store, he eventually had a good amount of clothing picked out. You estimated you were carrying around six shirts along with a few jackets. You followed him to one of two fitting rooms in the back while carefully balancing the clothes on your arm, moving to hand him his selections once you got there. 

Kichi refused to take the items in your outstretched arms, smiling devilishly as he gestured to the open fitting room. “Just set them down inside.”

You didn’t trust his tone. Or his expression. Or really anything about him right now. 

With a concerned eyebrow raised, you walked into the fitting room and placed the clothes on the small chair, immediately turning to leave. 

You were met with Kichi slipping inside and locking the door behind him. 

“Don’t worry, the worker’s not paying any attention.” He shrugged, shuffling past you in the small confines of the room.

You pressed yourself back against the wall, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible. “That-that’s not the problem.”

He tugged off his jacket and shirt and turned towards you, head cocked to the side. “What’s the problem then? You don’t want to help me pick out my clothes?” His bottom lip quivered. “Y/n is so mean!”

You slapped your hand over your eyes. “Youcan’tjustdothatohmygodkichi-”

“So prudish,” he said with a snicker, flicking your still exposed nose. 

You flinched away, further pressing yourself against the wall as you felt your face heat up. After a few seconds of silence, you heard shuffling noises that you assumed were him pulling on the first shirt. Deeming it acceptable to look after they died down, you dropped your hand. 

Kichi examined his reflection, the light purple shirt he was wearing tucked slightly into his jeans. “What do you think, y/n?” He asked, giving you a small spin as well as he could in the cramped fitting room.

You smiled, forgetting the embarrassment you’d felt just seconds before as you looked at the boy in front of you (well… mostly forgetting it). “You look cute,” you said.

(He did, to be fair. Purple was definitely his color, though he probably knew that already.)

“Of course I do. I always look cute.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I meant the shirt, stupid.”

You pursed your lips as your cheeks heated up again against your will, but thankfully, he didn’t bother waiting for a response. 

He tugged the long sleeve shirt over his head, drawing your attention to his shoulder blades as they pulled together and then softened back into his skin as he lowered his arms. He turned around and handed you the shirt to put back on the hanger, snapping you out of whatever daze you were in. 

Damn it. Should’ve shut your eyes. 

He tried on the other items one by one, always asking your opinion and handing you the shirts to put back on their hangers after he finished. Honestly, all of them looked good, and he started just rolling his eyes when you said so for the fifth time. The problem was, you didn't know how to diversify your responses without letting some of the truth slip out. 'Cute' was a safe word. 'It suits you' was safe, too.

'You're really attractive and it's making me flustered'... not a safe observation. 

You tried to focus on the task at hand, rather than his collarbones and the way they curved into his shoulders, the faded scar on his upper arm from the stitches you’d watched Miri give him just weeks before, the fact that his skin looked really smooth and really soft and really-

He pulled his original shirt back on, turning his head to wink cheekily at you. “Alrighty, I think we’re done here.”

You gulped loudly and nodded, immediately unlocking the door and sliding back outside. 


	13. Self Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But maybe it was you, right? The broken puzzle piece in all of this. The family link with cracks and finger pricking edges, unable to connect with anyone or anything except the aching hole inside your stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> \- This chapter contains a very descriptive scene of self-harm (alcohol abuse, cutting). Please skip until "... And then the light seeped through again..." if you'd like to avoid it.  
> This was a big vent chapter for me so I'm sorry for the over description, I needed to let it all out somehow <3

You tossed and turned in your bed for hours.

The air conditioner buzzed continuously louder and louder until the sound suffocated you. Drops of sweat dripped off your forehead and into the now damp crown of your hair, the temperature in your room akin to a sauna. Or at least, it felt like it. It also felt like the walls were closing in, so maybe your perception was warped at the moment. 

Your fingers twitched at your sides, grasping at the covers. Your wrists burned to be itched, to be scratched raw. To be ruined and ruined and--

You couldn’t take it anymore.

With a low whine, you threw off your covers and slipped your feet into the slippers by your bed. The fluff inside them was uncomfortable against the sweaty soles of your feet and you grimaced at the feeling (as well as the knowledge that you’d have to handwash them later). Your oversized t-shirt hung loosely at your sides and you tugged at the bottom of it, tying the fabric into a tight knot that secured it against your waist and provided your skin some relief from the heat.

And then you were going through the bottles in the cabinet above the fridge. 

You had to have walked there, right? You had to have opened and closed your bedroom door and climbed onto the counter with shaky arms, right? 

You frowned as you pushed away the thought, grabbing a half-empty bottle of tequila and a new bottle of whiskey. Just seeing the amber liquid made you scrunch up your nose with nausea from old memories. The combination would fuck you up though, so you tried to push away any reservations. 

This used to be a regular hobby of yours, back before you moved in with Miriana and lived with your parents instead. Every day with them was another tale of long beaten to death trauma, triggers covering the walls and speaking to you in monosyllable sentences as you tried to choke down a bowl of frosted flakes for dinner. Their words were always laced with venom, crawling up your arms and legs and wrapping around your ribs. Their anger was righteous, senseless… desperately lonely in its ignorance. 

But maybe it was you, right? The broken puzzle piece in all of this. The family link with cracks and finger pricking edges, unable to connect with anyone or anything except the aching hole inside your stomach. And so your family fell apart, unable to catch you as you plummetted into oblivion, into the place with only a dark and stunning lack of words. (The place in you where a family should be, you didn’t know how to get to it without falling. Without breaking a bone or two and hearing the crunch. Without cradling it between your hands and crying.)

How could it not be true? 

The old nightly routine of putting yourself to sleep by blacking out had been long forgotten, though, only resurfacing from the emotional trauma of the day and the guilt that ate away at your stomach. 

It was just a one-time thing, though. Just to make your brain shut up. If you didn’t make it numb, then you’d do something worse. Getting wasted was the better alternative, right? At least it didn’t leave scars that were visible.

After a few seconds of pondering your imminent demise, you grabbed some vodka, too. For good measure.

The room spun around you in an even shorter amount of time then you expected. (What was it? Thirty minutes? Ten shots? Eleven shots? God, your brain hurt too much to remember.)

You laid on your back on the kitchen floor, drained alcohol bottles and empty shot glasses smelling like the nauseating substances strewn around your body. You turned your head to the side so your cheek was pressed against the cool tile, the temperature relaxing compared to the heat you felt in your stomach and throat. 

(Besides some pizza today, you’d barely eaten. Who knows what your stomach would even get rid of when you threw up. That part was inevitable, though. You just hoped you’d make it to the bathroom first.)

Your vision focused in on a pink shot glass with sparkles covering the bottom, a gift from one of your old friends in college that you’d always kept. A chip on the rim caught your attention, the sharp edge of the glass making your heart race even faster than it already was. Your wrists burned as you scratched at the sensitive skin, tearing open the still healing scars. You felt nothing more than the comfortable sting, a lullaby of suffering that you played whenever you deserved it. 

(Why didn’t it hurt? Why did your heart ache with pain but your skin refuse to do the same? Why couldn’t anything take your mind off the fact that you’d failed, you would fail, you always failed. You failed at living. You failed at taking care of Kichi. You would fail at keeping your promise. A year ago, you even failed at killing yourself. 

Of course, you did. Of course.)

You grabbed the broken shot glass and smashed it against the tile, pieces of glass either going into your hand or scattering across the kitchen floor. You turned your palm towards your face and pulled out the glass, the red liquid oozing from your skin decorated with pink glitter. 

With blurred vision, you grasped one of the larger pieces of the shot glass and pressed it to your scarred up wrist until fresh blood dripped down your arm. You did it again. And again. 

You couldn’t even see what you were doing anymore. Too much blood. Or was it your blurry vision, making everything blocks of color and leaving out the details?

You did it again. 

Your stomach flipped with nausea as a wave of the whiskey’s scent reached your nose. Bile climbed into your throat, burning and unforgiving. 

You did it again. Nonsensical shapes drifted through your quickly darkening vision, your head pounding with pain and regret. 

You…

“... could’ve fucking _died_. God damn it y/n wakeup, _please_.”

You tried to open your eyes despite the feeling of them tearing themselves apart. Your body was something separate from the world, nonexistent and composed of only pain. 

After what felt like hours light seeped through, burning and unforgiving. The concerned expression of your temporary roommate slowly came into focus. 

You hiccuped. (Hiccups are kind of painful, honestly. The fuck is up with that?)

“I was going to kill you if you died on me,” Kichi said, his usually lilting voice cracking from nerves. He frowned and took the damp cloth off your forehead, smoothing away the wet hairs that had been pressed against your face. He sighed. “You are alive, right?”

Your lips parted, fully ready for a messed up joke to shove itself through your teeth before searing pain shot through your arm like a ghost. It was there. You didn't feel it.

You didn't feel anything at all.

Your body reacted on its own, crying out in a silent scream you were unable to hear through your pounding headache. The nonsensical shapes of color danced through your vision, mocking, and overly bright. 

… And then the soft light seeped through again, replacing all of the sharp edges. You blinked a few times, your living room coming into view along with the turned on TV, your favorite episode of the detective show already halfway through. Your cheek was sticky with sweat and pressed against something warm. After a few seconds of pushing through soggy thoughts, you realized that you were lying sideways on the couch, the fluffy grey blanket pulled up to your chin. It ticked your nose, making you sneeze.

“Y/n?”

With much effort, you turned your face slightly upwards, Kichi’s face coming into view once again. You realized that your head was currently cradled in his lap as he smiled down at you. “You’re in debt to me forever now, you know," he whispered, the words comforting your anxious thoughts and softening the blow of your memories from earlier that night crashing over you. 

Your cracked lips pulled into their own sad excuse for a smile, an equally fucked up laugh forcing itself through your throat. You tried to lift up your arm but the action was pointless, your entire body weighed down as if it were made of water. Noticing your struggle, Kichi untangled your arm from the blanket without disrupting the apendage, showing you the white cushion of gauze covering what you assumed was the area you’d sliced up.

“What did you do?” You asked as he carefully tucked the blanket back around your left arm. Your head still throbbed from a headache, and you squeezed your eyes shut from the pain. 

“Here. I was waiting until you woke up again to give you these.” Kichi reached over the couch to the living room table, his chest practically pressed against your face. He was wearing the shirt you’d given him the first night he stayed over, a green long sleeve. It smelled like him now, though, rather than yourself or laundry detergent. Like bubbly grape sodas and sour old candy. Like gobstoppers stuck to your grandma’s carpet and long-abandoned playgrounds.

Like life-ruining childhood trauma and nauseating childhood nostalgia. 

He pulled back and raised an eyebrow at your expression. “Are you overheating again? Your cheeks look flushed.” He pressed the back of his hand softly against your forehead. 

You tried to shake head. You couldn't. “I’m fine,” you croaked out instead.

He held out his hand to reveal what you assumed were painkillers. “Here. Take these for the headache. And, well, _that_ shit.” He gestured to your arm with the cup of water in his other hand.

You nodded and tried to sit up, pain immediately coursing through your entire body. Were the injuries really just on your arm? You could barely feel it, like it didn't even exist at all. Before you could attempt to move again, Kichi’s hand was against your upper back and supporting your head.

He sighed. “You’re really dumb, you know that?”

You nodded before taking the pills. You downed them with a few swigs of water, but Kichi frowned at you with disappointment until you finished the whole cup. 

“Better,” he cooed like you were an upset child. “Now, before I start my ‘im not mad, I’m just disappointed’ speech, is there anything else you need? More water? Another cold towel? An ice pack?”

You made a noise that you hoped sounded a bit like 'no'. Your entire body was still pounding like a drum, but hopefully he gave you a shit ton of acetaminophen. (Or something stronger- you knew Miri definitely had that. But trusting Kichi to find it… maybe Tylenol was for the best.)

“You’re a hypocrite, you know that?”

You made another noise, more similar to 'yes'.

“This won’t be any fun unless you fight me, c’mon. Argue a little,” Kichi groaned, poking your forehead softly a few times for good measure. 

His scent rushed over you again, the sweetness of it almost nauseating in your current state. You wondered if you’d thrown up earlier.

Before you could stop them, tears pooled up in your eyes. (Huh. So the thought of Kichi having to clean up your throw up was what broke you, not the fact that he was disappointed. )

“Hey, dummy. Crying is gross.” Kichi wiped the tears from underneath your eyes with his finger. “I’ve done this shit too, alright? You didn’t traumatize me for life or something if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You both smirked in response, most definitely thinking of the same thing. 

(Hydraulic press, amiright?) 

“I’ve _died_ okay? Like… fucking died. This shit?” He gestured to your pathetic state; teary eyes, gauze covered arm, and breath that probably smelled a lot like throw up. “This is child’s play.”

You opened your mouth, attempting for the first time to shove out an actual sentence. “I’m just… really sorry. I know what you’re going to say. About me being a hypocrite.” 

Speaking felt like lifting weights in your current condition. 10/10 would not recommended. 

He huffed. “Yeah, I’m sure you do. Anyone with one brain cell would. But you still need to hear it.” He wiped the new tears away from your cheeks and brushed the few strands of hair away that had fallen onto your face with a frown. “Why do you do things to yourself that you wouldn’t want me to do?”

Your stomach flipped in circles as you imagined that it was you finding Kichi half dead on the kitchen floor instead, bleeding from his arm and covered in throw up.

“I just… I just don’t think I’m fixable.”

But Kokichi Ouma? No. He was good and wonderful and worthy of all the things he was never allowed to have. He was beautiful and soft, an angel in the light. 

You closed your eyes so you didn’t have to see his reaction, but he tapped your cheek until you opened them again.

A soft smile rested on his lips, but you focused on the light freckles that dusted his cheeks instead to lessen the still falling tears. “Do you see who you’re talking to right now?” He said, a small laugh following the words. “Do you think I haven’t felt the same way a million times in my life?” He rolled his eyes and sighed. “And those are just the ones that I remember.”

You focused on the freckles, counting them again and again and again. “I focus on others so I don’t have to focus on myself.” Your own words surprised you. And then the fact that it hurt you to be honest when you expected him to do the same with ease made your stomach flip with guilt. “I’m a coward,” you whispered.

“If you’re a coward then so am I.” The smile dropped and his eyebrows pressed together as if considering something. He lifted his hand and dragged it down his cheek. “Look I… I told you about trying to find DICE. There’s a reason I was able to wander around for two years without accomplishing jackshit.” He laughed bitterly. “In a way, I think I sabotaged my own search. I was terrified of the truth, so I just never let myself find it.”

You opened your mouth to respond, any comforting words that you’d come up with overshadowed by a loud hiccup.

He looked at you with sparkling eyes, a soft laugh tumbling from his mouth. “Your alcohol addiction really knows how to ruin a moment, huh?” 

You groaned in embarrassment and buried your face in his stomach. “Sorry,” you said pathetically.

The boy beside you shifted until he was laying mostly sideways and pulled you closer to him. Your face was now buried in his shoulder, the soft scent of candy lulling your eyes closed. His arms wrapped around your body as he rested his head on the top of yours. 

You pressed your face further into his shoulder, the warmth of his body bringing back up your temperature in a way that was more comforting then dangerous. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He hummed. “Why are you saying sorry? I told you not to do that.”

You shook your head as much as you could in your current position. “I know but,” you hiccupped, “I just want so badly to help you.”

He loud out a loud gust of air from his nose. “Why-” He sighed and shook his head. “Nevermind. I guess I shouldn’t be asking that, taking advantage of your honesty right now and everything.”

You smirked. “Is that why you’re being honest too? Because you don’t think I’ll remember it?”

He shrugged and you didn’t have to try very hard to imagine his smug expression. “Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long delay! I'm currently in recovery and trying to get better so I've been trying to pick back up writing again. Thanks for sticking with me! <3 <3 <3


	14. Gauze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You stood motionless as you felt Kichi walk behind you and introduce himself to the intruder, his enthusiasm practically melting through the air as he proclaimed his ultimate supreme leader status.
> 
> You turned around just in time to watch his enthusiasm falter, the last of his words drifting into space. 
> 
> He frowned. “Wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Small flashbacks to self-harm scene.

Kokichi woke up the next morning in the same position as before, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face pressed into his neck. Your hair tickled his cheeks as he shuffled out from under the covers. The snores didn’t so much as soften and his smile was bittersweet- happy that you were sleeping so heavily, but upset because of the reasons. 

Everything these days felt bittersweet now that he thought about it. Like you, sleeping against him despite his body heat. You, smiling softly at something he said. You, alive but barely living. 

Always you. 

A notification lighting up his phone screen caught his attention as he went to leave for the bathroom. He was fully intent on ignoring it, but after noticing the contact name he picked it up with a frown.

**Meereeaynah (4:45 AM)**

**How are they doing?**

**Hello.**

**You weren’t supposed to fall asleep.**

**I’m going to call if you don’t respond soon.**

**_4 Missed Calls_ **

He typed a response as he made his way to the bathroom, taking note of all the dirty towels piled on the washer from last night and making a mental note to wash them. Now that he thought about it, the kitchen was a mess and smelled of blood- he’d have to clean that, too. Cleaning had never been his forte, it was a hatred of his to be exact, but he didn’t think he could deal with seeing a murder scene every time he went to cook breakfast. 

He didn’t think he could deal with the memory of dragging you to the bathroom covered in your own vomit just to cry as he propped your unconscious body in the shower.

Not like he saw it every time he closed his eyes or anything. Definitely not. 

**im okay we both feel asleep**

**im alive ya know**

**I’m not worried about your life right now.**

**wow. cold.**

**You can handle it.**

He snickered to himself as he washed his hands with your Christmas themed soap. It smelled the same as your shampoo and conditioner, now that he thought about it- cheery vanilla with some hints of peppermint. And then he remembered washing you (the parts that weren’t covered by soaked clothing) with a body wash of the same scent the night before, the vanilla intermingled with vomit and blood. 

He dried his hands stiffly. 

**How are they?**

**snoring**

He snickered to himself again.

**This is serious.** **As I’ve said FIFTY times before.**

 **They’ll probably be overheating again soon. You need to** **cover them in cold, damp towels**

 **and give them water if** **they wake up. No food.**

Kokichi walked down the hallway with his arms full of face towels he’d wet in the bathroom sink. The water dripped down his body, making him shiver as his now damp clothes pressed against his skin. 

**Okay?**

**??**

**Kokichi.**

**chill lady i was using the loo**

Despite his response, Kokichi had already finished putting the final damp towel on your body by the time Miriana angrily responded to him again. Smiling to himself, he typed another snarky response and set two cold water bottles down near the couch for if you woke up.

 _When_ you woke up, he corrected himself.

Despite the inevitable flashbacks, mostly he tried to push the events from the night before into the back of his mind in lieu of what was happening right in front of him. That was how he got through the bad; never let things pile up, throw memories away, only focus on the present. If during the game he’d cried about every murder or execution for days after it happened he probably would’ve killed himself earlier. Maybe even after the first trial. Danganronpa didn’t matter now though, he’d focus on that when it stared him in the face again. For now, he’d clean the kitchen and wash the towels. For now, he’d take care of you and wait for you to wake.

For now. 

\---

You drifted in and out of consciousness for the next three days. At some point, the person changing out the towels and giving you water switched to Miriana. You knew it was her by her perfume- the soft and silky scent that covered most of the items in your apartment.

She wasn’t supposed to be home for another week. 

You took a few sips of water and nestled back into the couch, your body a porcelain doll that refused to move on its own. The sweet scent of your roommate reminded you that water didn’t just appear in front of you on its own. Someone had to give it to you. Someone had to hold your head up. Someone had to have cleaned the kitchen and changed your bandages and kept you alive. 

“Hey,” she whispered.

You tried to smile. It probably didn’t work. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for what?” She took the damp towel off your forehead and pressed the back of her hand against it. 

Your temperature was still high, but you could tell that it was more stable than before. In fact, everything was more stable than before. Coherent thoughts moved slowly though your mind like goldfish bobbing in the water. You might even be able to sit up if you tried, but you weren’t ready for that yet. Your existence still didn’t feel real, and neither did all the limbs on your body. 

If you sat up, you’d have to come to terms with the fact that you really did what you did. That it wasn’t just a dream and this wasn’t just a really long slumber.

You coughed, the action sending a sharp pain through your chest. “Taking care’a me.”

“I just got here, it’s mostly been the gremlin up until this point.” She sighed. “He kept you alive, at least.”

You smiled for real this time. “Yeah. He did.”

You could practically feel her roll her eyes. “I called in a substitute for the second half of the trip. Thankfully I was able to get one after a few days.” She placed the towel back on your forehead, tiny beads of water dripping into your eyes. 

You felt awful, but she already knew that.

“Don’t feel bad alright? Think of it as you saving me from the most boring workshop I’ve ever been to.”

You made a noise close to a laugh. “Whatever you say.”

“Exactly. And I say just continue resting and letting us take care of you, okay? Its gonna be rough for a few more days but you’re gonna be alright.”

You drifted back to sleep. 

You’re gonna be alright. 

\---

You missed a week of work. A week of life, really. It all felt like some overly detailed fever dream your crazy brain had come up with. You tried not to think about it too much, and thankfully, Kichi and Miriana didn’t ask too many questions. You knew eventually you’d have to talk with both of them about it, but that was for another day. 

For now, you were going to make pancakes. 

At first, you’d felt like a newborn deer when you tried to walk again, but you mostly had the hang of it now. Sometimes your legs still felt like jelly and you had to grab onto the counter, but that was a minor inconvenience at most. A minor inconvenience- like your throbbing arm and burning throat and pounding headache that still hadn’t gone away. 

It was fine. It was 4 AM. You were going to make pancakes. 

Careful not the wake the purple-haired boy snoring softly on the couch or your roommate, you tiptoed into the overly clean kitchen and stacked the ingredients you’d need on the counter. Your eyes scanned the floor, the refrigerator, everything you’d touched _that_ night… not a speck of blood was left. It was like nothing had ever happened- your arm and headache the only remnants of the memory. 

You squeezed your eyes shut and counted to ten, grabbing the counter as your entire body felt pulled down with the weight of the universe. The sensation lifted after a few seconds, and you were back to switching off the pantry light and changing it for the light above the stove. 

“Y/n?”

You spun around with wide eyes, hands clutching the edge of the counter behind you. 

“Whoahh, it’s alright. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Kichi said, maneuvering around the kitchen cabinets to get to you. He immediately pressed the back of his hand against your forehead.

Everyone was doing that a lot lately. 

He dropped his hand and smiled. “You okay?”

You nodded. “I just-” your mouth went dry, unable to finish the sentence. 

That was happening a lot lately, too. 

The smile slipped off his face. It always made him sad when you did that, like it meant that you were scared of him or too nervous to talk. Maybe it was one of those things, maybe it wasn’t. All you knew was that every time you looked into his eyes you remembered how they looked peering down at you on the kitchen floor. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

You jerked your gaze up from the cabinets across from you. “No!”

He shrugged and reached behind you to grab the pancake mix. “We haven’t talked much ya know. Not like we used to.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “It’s not-” Your mouth stopped working, hoping the words would just apparate into the air without any effort on your part.

“It’s not what? Not my fault?” Kichi grabbed a pan from one of the cabinets and put it down beside the ingredients. “How am I supposed to believe that.” 

You turned around and propped open the egg container, gently taking one out and rolling it between your hands. The cold shell was comforting against your skin. “I don’t know,” you whispered.

“That’s alright,” he said with another shrug. “You don’t have to know everything yet.” 

He placed his hand on yours, stopping you from rolling the egg. You watched as he put it back into the box and took your now free hands in his. His skin was usually the colder one, but for once it was yours instead. 

You remembered sleeping against him that first night on the couch. You wouldn’t have survived the extra body heat if he wasn’t always so cold. You liked that memory. It was sweet and soft. He’d slept on the floor beside you every other night, but you told yourself that he probably just thought you wanted space. Or maybe he hated you. 

Either one. 

Kichi squeezed your hands. “I don’t take it personally, you know.”

As you opened your mouth to ask why, he cut you off. “Let’s make pancakes, y/n.”

And so you did. 

After about 20 minutes, you transferred the last of the pancakes out of the pan and onto two large serving plates. The counter was covered in powdered sugar from Kichi’s attempt to help, but you found early on that he wasn’t the best at cooking. After burning a few pancakes in his attempts, he’d gone to take a shower and promised to clean up after you’d finished making them. 

You wondered what food he’d survived on while you were out cold those first few days without Miriana. Maybe he ordered pizza every day? 

As you brought the plates of powder sugar covered pancakes to the dining room table, a soft knock came from your door. You put down the plates with a questioning crease already forming between your eyebrows. You glanced at the clock to double-check that it was still an indecent time. 

5:03 AM. 

The only possibility you could think of was a patient for Miriana, and your stomach sank at the possibility of someone bleeding out on your doorstep.

“Who dat?” Kichi called, strolling out of the bathroom where he’d just finished showering. He scrubbed his hair with one of your towels like a wet dog, small water droplets dripping down his face and neck. He noticed the finished pancakes and sprinted over to the table with wide eyes, the towel forgotten on the floor beside the bathroom. He grabbed the maple syrup and began pouring a ridiculous amount onto his plate as you walked to open the door.

Of all the people you were expecting, it was most definitely not the white-haired boy that stood in front of you.

He waved cautiously as if any movement might scare you away or cause you to slam the door on him. 

You were considering the latter, to be fair. 

“Hi,” he said, his voice hollow and closer to a whisper. 

As you continued to stare with wide eyes, he wrapped his arms loosely around his body as if trying to keep himself together. As if trying to hold all the pieces in one place.

“Who's at the door?” Kichi called through a mouth full of syrup and powdered sugar covered pancakes. 

This was not an ideal situation, to say the least. 

“I’ll be right back, Kichi,” you called, stepping outside the door as the white-haired boy stepped to let you pass. Before shutting the door behind you, you paused with an annoyed huff. “Don’t eat all the pancakes.”

Before you could shut the door, a small face popped up beside you, effectively stopping you from escaping without disaster. 

Your eyes widened. 

“Who’s this? Your long lost lover or something?” Kichi said, looking the boy up and down. 

You pushed him back into the apartment, ignoring the small _“hi”_ you heard in response from the other. 

“Go eat your food,” you hissed, holding Kichi back by his shoulders.

He continued to stand on his tippy toes to see the boy over your head. “He looks kinda scary,” Kichi mused, continuing to wiggle halfheartedly against your grasp. “Hey! Creepy! Get ‘em to let go of me! I’m sure you have a knife or something that could help.”

You froze as you heard the front door close, the lapse in attention effectively letting Kichi slip out of your grasp. You stood motionless as you felt Kichi walk behind you and introduce himself to the intruder, his enthusiasm practically melting through the air as he proclaimed his ultimate supreme leader status.

You turned around just in time to watch his enthusiasm falter, the last of his words drifting into space. 

He frowned. “Wait.” 

The newcomer ignored the purple-haired boy, not bothering to introduce himself back as he walked towards you. You didn’t move as his two skinny arms wrapped around you and his chin rested easily against your shoulder.

“I missed you,” he said softly.

Your throat went dry as you realized you really were going to have to respond. That this really was happening. That there was really no escape. 

You took a deep breath. “Hello, Nagito.”

At the sound of the name, it was Kichi’s turn to freeze. “Nagito, huh?” He asked.

You untangled yourself from the boy's arms. “We should really go outsi-”

Kichi immediately whined, the sound echoing shrilly through the room. “But I wanna talk to the super-duper famous Nagito Komaeda!” 

Nagito shrunk at this, nervously rubbing his arm as he stared at nothing in particular. “Aha, I’m really nothing special-”

“Nagito,” you grumbled, effectively cutting him off. Kichi stared up at you with wide eyes like a little kid begging for a piece of candy at the store. You groaned. “Fine, he can stay for pancakes.”

Kichi jumped up and down with excitement. 

“I really don’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” you cut off the white-haired boy before he could say anything demeaning about himself, tugging on his sleeve and bringing him over to the table.

You grabbed your own place of pancakes and sprinkled a small amount of powdered sugar on them, stabbing a fork into the pile before handing them to Nagito. “Eat.”

His hands shook as he held the plate. 

With a sigh, you realized that you were going to have to calm your anger. So many questions swirled through your mind- but you weren’t going to get any answers to them if you kept going like this. You looked at the white-haired boy with his vacant, green eyes. He cut out a small piece of the pancake with the edge of his fork and brought it tentatively to his mouth with trembling fingers. Your eyes trailed down to his wrist, his skin pale as always with vibrant blue veins poking out. 

“Please eat it all,” you said, voice much softer now. You felt yourself walking on glass, treading in between the valley of giving into what felt so much like betrayal and admitting that in his eyes it probably wasn’t betrayal at all. “I’d appreciate it.”

A bright smile covered his face, pink flush coating his cheeks. He immediately started eating the pancakes quicker until he was practically scarfing them down. 

Neither of them ever did eat enough.

“Geez, so no one’s gonna tell me what’s going on?” Kichi said, leaning over the table to be closer to both of you and tilting his head like a curious puppy.

Nagito didn’t pause his eating, so you assumed it was on you. 

You sighed. “Komaeda was one of my patients, remember?” With a pause, you focused on your hands in your lap, pressing your pointer fingers against your legs if only to feel something stable. “He’s back to visit. That’s all there is to it.”

Kichi froze up for a few seconds, his usual over the top expression faltering. With a loud pop of his lips, he was back to normal, stabbing his fork into his pancakes and speaking through a mouthful. “Sounds like a weird relationship for a therapist and a patient to have, but whatever floats your boat! Maybe I’m not so far off with the long lost lover idea I had.” He swallowed loudly and tapped his finger against his chin.

As you glanced over, you realized that Nagito had already finished his food somehow. He put down his fork gently and pushed the plate into the middle of the table. “The food was really good, thank you.”

You smiled. “No problem. I’m sure you haven’t had breakfast, so.” 

He nodded politely as an awkward silence fell between the three of you. You continued pressing your pointer fingers deeper into your thighs just to feel something.

“Am I really gonna have to ask the questions here?” Kichi groaned. You could feel him kicking his legs back and forth, his feet hitting yours every few seconds. His skin was still damp from his shower, the droplets transferring to your feet and leaving your legs cold. You half expected him to be weird and start trying to intertwine your toes or something.

It sounded like something he would do. 

“I have questions of my own,” Nagito spoke up. His voice held more resolve than before- less airy and more crazed. It was more similar to the voice you used to hear during sessions once he’d gotten more comfortable. You wondered if it unnerved Kichi to hear it for the first time in real life… but probably not. “Why are you here?” He tilted his head to the side, staring at the former supreme leader with a mix of curiosity and resentment.

Kichi held his hand up to his chest and scoffed. “Excuse me? You meet the world-famous Kokichi-”

“I know exactly who you are.”

Your eyes widened. “Okaayyy let’s calm it down,” you said, holding out your hands as if to pacify them. You couldn’t help a small smile from creeping onto your lips anyways. Kichi had another mouthful of pancake as he glared at Nagito, powdered sugar dusting his lips and staining them white. 

At the sound of your voice, both of the boys looked away from each other and towards you instead, the tense energy drifting out of the air.

Nagito reached over and let his fingertips dance over the gauze still wrapping your left arm. “Are you okay?” He looked up to meet your eyes.

You nodded. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” With a quick glance at Kichi’s deep frown, you pulled your arm into your lap. “Anyways. Since you don’t seem to be immediate best friends, I guess I should explain.”

Nagito didn’t seem too impressed with your explanation, to say the least.

“I still don’t understand why he’s here.”

“Why does it matter?” Kichi grabbed his hair between his fists. “Just leave it beeeeee.”

Nagito huffed. 

“He’s right. It’s not relevant.” You nodded at Kichi, effectively getting him to release his hair and start smiling again. “What matters is why you’re here at 5 in the morning.” 

“It’s not like you were asleep,” he mumbled.

You sideyed him with a frown. 

It was like dealing with two jealous toddlers. 

After some effort, Nagito went on to explain Tsumugi visiting him in a similar fashion to Kaede, Rantaro, and Shuichi. As predicted, his season had also been picked, meaning he was one of the top ten she was going after. 

Once he’d finished, you took a deep sigh and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m really sorry this is happening to you all, but I have to ask. You didn’t know Kokichi was going to be here, so why did you think this had to do with me?” 

Nagito nodded and you could practically see his confidence fading as he wrapped his arms securely around his body. “I was thinking about how to break the contract,” he said, his voice back to soft and airy. 

Kichi laughed, filling the entire room with the bright sound. “It’s impossible, shrimp dick. You think we all haven’t been doing the same?”

“ _Kokichi_!”

At the sound of his given name rather then the nickname you always used, the purple-haired boy shrunk into his seat and frowned like a reprimanded child. “Yeah yeah,” he mumbled.

See? Two toddlers. 

Nagito looked nervously back at you and you nodded for him to continue. 

He sighed. “Well, I was thinking. Back when we signed onto Danganronpa we had to meet with a doctor to declare us mentally fit to be on television and working with others and stuff. I did some research and I guess it’s a common protocol. That’s where you come in.” He scratched his cheek, his shoulders tense with anxiety. “What if we were declared mentally _un_ fit?”

You stared at the empty plates where the pancakes had been, your stomach growling at not having eaten any. Maybe you’d make more later, just for the hell of it. “Well. I’m assuming they legally wouldn’t be allowed to let you on.”

He nodded as if that was the answer he was looking for. “I’m assuming if we already had that on our record they wouldn’t be allowed to cast us, either.”

Kichi looked between you and Nagito. “So you want y/n to declare you legally crazy is what you’re saying.”

“Um,” Nagito said followed by a soft laugh. “Yeah. I guess.”

You frowned and furrowed your eyebrows. It wasn’t the worst idea in the world. You fiddled with the edges of your sleeves, the regret of quitting your job suddenly washing over you full force. “I don’t practice anymore,” you mumbled.

Nagito looked at you with bright green puppy dog eyes, the kind that could get anyone to do anything. 

They were the type of eyes that made you sign him off to leave the Danganronpa complex despite his worsening mental state at the time. The kind of eyes that made you meet him for coffee every week back then, even though you knew it wasn’t right, even though you knew the longer you continued the further down you fell. 

Of course Kichi was right. He always was.

Nagito's gaze drifted down to your nervous hands. 

Ignoring both of your sagging shoulders and downcast faces, Kichi spoke up with a voice peppy as ever. “But you still have the credentials, riiiiiight? All you gotta do is find another place to work!”

You thought it over for a few seconds, eventually coming to the same conclusion that you knew Nagito was thinking as well. You dropped your hands back into your lap. “It’s not that easy.”

Kichi blew a loud gust of air out of his nose and leaned forward to press his finger against your nose with a smile. “Okaaaay, so it’s not easy. What’s the matter with not easy?”

You smiled as he dropped his finger, leaving it to draw circles on the glass table between the three of you. “You’re right.” The tense anxiety in your shoulders replaced itself with excitement and anticipation as you reached for Kichi’s hand, squeezing it softly as you looked into his eyes. “Kichi, Komaeda... I think we might’ve just come up with a plan.”


	15. Nail Biting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (People, you thought, are all we've really got in this world.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a long one, oof. This took forever ngl so I hope u guys like it! (Not fully satisfied w/ it so will probably continue editing over the next few days but I was too excited to share sksk.) I'm hopefully back to my regular schedule and wanted to thank all of you so much for the well wishes and for sticking with me thru the small hiatus :) It means so much to me <3  
> Hope u all enjoy the 'new' characters this chapter, got to introduce one of my faves xx

It was your first day back at work.

Your boss Christian had made an effort to give you as much time as you needed to recover, but at this point, you were just getting bored. Sitting around in a store reading books for eight hours wasn’t the most stimulating thing in the world, but it was better than sleeping the days away in your bedroom, waking up every few hours just to feed Muffin, and then falling back into an abyss of comforters and pillows. 

You took a quick shower and got dressed, complete with your uncomfortably bright yellow name tag that Christian loved oh so much, and went to the kitchen for some quick breakfast. 

Kichi was sitting on top of the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal in his lap, a mouthful of strawberries and granola to compliment it. You couldn’t help but notice that dark circles fell under his eyes, a deeper shade of blue and purple than usual. It was like it took him an extra effort to blink today, each movement of his eyelids slow. He still wore his clothes from the night before- a checkered long sleeve you’d bought on your trip to the mall and his original black jeans. He’d swapped his shoes for a pair of fluffy grey socks that belonged to you, and you smiled as you realized that you wore a matching pair under your snow boots.

You waved as you hoped down the three stairs to the kitchen, your snow boots heavily clunking against the ground and likely annoying the downstairs neighbors. 

Kichi waved as he swallowed the last bite of cereal. It was a spoonful of only the dried strawberries- a habit of his to 'save the best for last' whenever he ate that particular kind. You were more fond of the granola, so you usually tried to fish the strawberries out of your bowl after pouring your cereal in the mornings to put it back in the box for him. “Mornin' lovelllyyy.” He spun around on the counter and put his bowel down in the sink, droplets of milk splashing everywhere. “You heading to work?”

You nodded with flushed cheeks as you began shutting the open cabinets. Kichi always forgot to close them after his attempts at making his own food, and at this point, it was a routine to clean up after him. “How long did Nagito stay?” You asked, grabbing a small breakfast bar out of the pantry to eat on the way to work (which you were already late for, by the way.) 

“Not too late.” He shrugged.

You turned around to look at him and raised your eyebrow. “So you just decided to sleep in last night’s clothes?”

He nodded, picking at the dust bunnies on his jeans as he sat comfortably cross-legged on top of the island.

You wanted to say that his dark circles and tired eyes said otherwise, but you decided to leave it be. It’s not like he’d give you a real answer, anyways. “Whatever floats your boat, Mister Supreme.” 

As you turned to leave, Kichi grabbed your arm. He’d somehow moved stealthily from the island to beside you at the door without you noticing. (The only reason you didn't jump out of your shoes was that you'd become desensitized to it at this point. He’d make it across the house and back with a bag of Cheetos before you even noticed he’d gotten off the couch.) 

He let go of your arm. “Wait here. Please.”

You raised an eyebrow again as he sprinted up the stairs to the hallway in one leap and disappeared from view. He was never one to say please seriously, especially with puppy dog eyes. 

That was more of a Nagito thing. 

He jumped over the steps again after a few seconds- landing with a hard thud to further aggravate your downstairs neighbors- with a journal tucked under his arm. Breathing loudly, he pushed it against your chest with a blank expression. 

You took it and flipped through the pages. It was yours. 

“I only read the first page, ya know,” he said, rubbing his arm as his breathing slowed. 

You jerked your gaze away from your own melancholy writings. All the poems and journal entries and prose you'd written since two years ago compiled in one blue leather-bound journal. “Really?”

Kichi nodded softly, reaching up to grab the string bookmark hanging out of the journal and fiddle with the edges of it. “Too personal.” He shrugged. “Learning all your deepest darkest secrets is no fun when it’s _that_ easy.”

You flicked the bookmark out of his grasp and smiled. “Sorry for making it so boring.” You tucked the journal into the messenger bag hanging off your shoulder, your movements slow and deliberate. “Also, uh, Kichi…” 

He cut you off. “You’re sorry we haven’t talked much and you want to thank me for keeping you breathing or whatever. Okay. Got it.”

You looked up at him and huffed. “Well, that’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

You had a staring match for a few seconds, his purple eyes deeper than usual in the dim light of morning. You relented and looked back at your bag, adjusting the straps as you talked. “Yes, all of those things. But I also want to apologize for Nagito barging in last night, I never thought that would happen.” You finished adjusting the straps and slung the bag securely back over your shoulder. “Also… just so you know, I guess. Nothing… happened? Between us. Or whatever.”

“You sure sound confident about that.”

You made a frustrated growling noise. “Because it’s awkward, okay! I liked him and he didn’t like me back, at least in the same way, and it was all weird and he disappeared and I thought I'd never see him again. That’s it.”

He crossed his arms across his chest and hummed softly. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. That’s it.” You picked at the skin around the edges of your fingers, the sides of your mouth turned down into a frown. “Please don’t think I like him anymore either, okay? Because I don’t.”

He uncrossed his arms and twirled a piece of dark purple hair between his fingers. “Okay. Whatever you say,” he sang, his voice high and lilting. The strand of hair he let go of popped back into place more curly than before, and he grabbed another to begin twisting it around his pointer finger again.

You were losing him. 

“Kichi-”

“Yeah, yeah. I totally believe you.” He waved a dismissive hand through the air. 

You clutched the strap of your bag tight enough for your knuckles to turn white. 

“Not like he was giving you puppy dog eyes all _night_ or anything.” His voice continued to lilt like it did when he was playing games. The voice he used during Danganronpa. The voice he’d used when you’d first met.

Now, it was usually just reserved for fun...

Spoiler Alert: neither of you was having any fun at all. 

You wanted to stomp your foot against the ground in frustration. (Downstairs neighbors who?) “That’s him! I can’t control what he does. I’m talking about _me_.” 

“You were letting him.”

“I was not!”

“You were!” He yelled, balling his hands into fists at his sides. He took a deep breath and uncurled his fingers, stretching each of them out in turn. “Whatever. It’s none of my business.” He turned his body towards the living room as he glared back at you. “I just don’t like being lied to.”

You stood dumbfounded near the door, both of your hands dropping to your sides. “It wasn’t a lie,” you whispered meekly. 

He ignored you as he walked towards the couch, slumping down in one of the corners and propping his feet up on the table. “I’ll be going somewhere today. Don’t worry too much if I’m gone or whatever.” He waved the remote through the air and pressed a few random buttons, the news popping up on TV.

He hated the news. 

“I’ll see you tonight then?” You asked, staring at the empty spot in front of you where he used to be standing. 

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

With a soft gust of breath leaving your mouth, you squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, grabbing your keys off the hook and shutting the door behind you before he had a chance to see you cry.

The passerby on the street didn’t have the same luxury, silent tears falling down your face the whole way to work. You wiped the remaining ones away as you opened the door, the bell chiming softly. 

Christian greeted you with a somber smile, you greeted him with an even somberer one, and thus began the worried-parent-not-actually-parent-discussion of the century.

“-should’ve called someone. You’re a therapist for god’s sake- isn’t that what you’d tell your patient? Call when you get any sort of impulse?”

“That’s not really how it works, dad.”

“Stop. You know I’m not trying to be your parent.”

“Kinda sounds like it, though.”

“F/n l/n.”

“See? Using my full name and everything.”

“You almost died. _For the second time_. I think I have that right, as well as the right to be concerned.”

“Third time. Forgot about middle school.”

“This isn’t funny. I know you don’t want to go to the hospital-

“No.”

“I know. But at this point, I think we need to consider it. Miriana cant keep saving you.”

“It wasn’t her this time. I have another roommate, temporary, and he was the one that helped when Miri was still at her conference. I’m fine, Chis! Look at me! I’m all good! I can move my arm and everything!”

“She didn’t mention another roommate.”

“Yeah cause she probably thought I didn’t want you to know.”

“She can’t keep protecting you-”

The bell chimed as a customer walked in. His white hair caught your eye immediately and you sighed in relief. 

“Welcome to Lavigne’s Books, let me know if you need any help with anything.” You smiled sweetly at him, the boy’s eyes widening in response as he nodded. You hoped he got the whole 'pretend you don't know me for now' hint hidden under your sickeningly sweet customer service voice. 

Christian turned to you as he grabbed his bright red coat off the coat rack and slid it over his shoulders. He tugged his crochet beanie further down his forehead. You wouldn't be surprised if it was handmade and imported from France or something, (or if he'd bought it in France himself on one of his many trips to Europe.) “That’s my cue to leave.”

You nodded. “Sorry. By the way.”

He sighed loudly and pulled you into a hug. He didn't usually like touching other people (too dirty), and his hugs were mostly just reserved for you. It made you feel kinda special, if you were going to be sappy for a moment. “I know. I’m sorry too. I know it’s not your fault.” He rubbed your back comfortingly, squeezing you tighter as if you might break apart without it. As if somehow he could put you back together himself, each and every broken piece like a jigsaw puzzle you could figure out together. You'd come out a bright and shiny new person, cured of everything you had on your diagnosis list. Wouldn't that be nice, huh? “It wasn't this time and it wasn’t last year and it wasn't in middle school.”

You pressed your face deeper into his shoulder and nodded, tiny tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You pulled away and wiped them with the back of your hand, your gaze momentarily shifting to Nagito not-at-all-suspiciously pretending to browse the cookbook collection. 

After quick goodbyes, Christian left you alone as the door chimed behind him. 

You motioned for Nagito to follow you and brought him to your usual lounging spot in the corner, not at all passive-aggressively making him sit on the floor beside your chair. You gave him the fluffy pillow (made of locally sourced alpaca wool) to make up for it.

You knew in your heart that that morning wasn't his fault. But still. It kinda felt like it. 

He wrapped his arms around the pillow and held it close to his chest, his tired eyes fluttering shut as he rested his head on the top of it. “Uhm.” 

He seemed even more tired then Kichi was that morning. While he wasn't wearing the same clothes from last night, a step up from the purple gremlin, his hair didn't seem to be brushed and his shirt was definitely wrinkly. You also didn't want to make any judgements, but... his clothes definitely did not match today. You wondered what had kept those two up all night after you'd gone to sleep. 

You snorted. “Your seasons top ten?”

“Ah!” He pulled out his phone and rested it on top of the pillow where you could see it, quickly pulling out a list in his notes of the top ten from Goodbye Despair. Each had their phone numbers and emails listed underneath, along with a few quick notes about Nagito's hypothesis on whether they'd rebel or accept the offer by Danganronpa. Chiaki Nanami and Mikan Tsumiki were listed as actors- previously established actors and actresses scouted out by Danganronpa to keep order in the game. They were given some false memories to help with their characters but were overall conscious during the simulation, similar to Tsumugi Shirogani and other masterminds, and used by Danganronpa to keep the ‘plot’ going and to make sure things stayed interesting. 

Most actors privately renounced Danganronpa after the show, including Chiaki and Mikan, but the chances of them actively rebelling were slim. They were Danganronpa's most curated playing pieces- at least one was present for every interview and they often worked together to gain further publicity for the show, whether this meant doing their own print interviews, making Reddit threads, selling merchandise, etc.

Even after the show ended, they were still expected to play their roles. Their lives were woven into so many contracts with Danganronpa that at this point it would be impossible for them to escape from the spider's web.

You immediately thought of Kiibo from Kichi’s season, another actor forced to play the role of a robot and follow the plotline of ‘destroying Danganronpa’- just another TV show trope used to amass viewers and get back interest. He publicly denounced the show however he legally could, mostly suing for poor working conditions and being forced to play a different role then he signed up for, but besides that, there wasn't much he could do. He'd still successfully avoided attaching himself to the show in any other way, such as declining interviews and essentially going into hiding. He would rebel against the new season, that was for sure. 

You scrolled through the notes. “So the highlighted ones are the people you've already contacted about the plan?”

He smiled brightly. “Yup! Thankfully we're all usually awake all night.”

You sideyed him. “That's not really a good thing.”

He ignored you and went back to showing you the notes, pointing out things here and there, and talking about his call with Hajime for twenty straight minutes. You kept a stiff smile as at least four customers came through during that time.

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket and you took it out immediately in hopes of it being Kichi.

It wasn't.

You sighed.

The most recent message was from Kaede, and as you scrolled down you saw a few others that you hadn’t bothered to check before, mostly from the past two days. 

**Kaede Akamatsu**

**hey!! <3 haven't heard from u in a while- just making sure ur okay? :-) best wishes xx**

**Rantaro Amami**

**U good?**

**Hm**

**Im this close to finding Ouma’s number to ask if you're okay**

**Couldn’t find it but**

**Still looking**

**????**

**I’m getting worried y/n**

**Shuichi Saihara**

**Hello, it's Shuichi Saihara. I hope it's okay that I got your number from Rantaro. I wanted to ask if we could schedule our therapy session for the next week or so? As you saw I definitely need it haha. Just let me know when it works best for you.**

**Just making sure you got this message? - Shuichi**

**Rantaro and Kaede are worried about you and frankly, so am I. I know they've already texted you, but if you're going through something just know I’m always here to listen if you need it. I wouldn't tell anyone if you didn't want them to know for any reason. - Best, Shuichi.**

You remembered the last time you were found passed out, and how not a single person had checked up on you afterward. Not your family. Not the ‘friends’ you had at the time. Your messages stayed just as empty as they'd always been, regardless of your absence. It hadn't changed anyone's routine- you not being there. Everyone went on as they always had.

It made you wish you had succeeded. 

But now, three people you barely knew were worried. They were talking to each other about it, wondering if you were okay. Texting you sweet things as they stressed about what state you were in. Shuichi, the ever kind Shuichi, offering to listen and be there however you needed. 

Kichi, helping you save your life over and over and over again. 

(People, you thought, are all we've really got in this world.)

“You okay?” Nagito asked.

You clicked off your phone and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.” 

He sideyed your bright red cheeks and watery eyes but thankfully dropped the subject, bringing back up something from his notes about Hajime instead. You were grateful for the distraction and vowed in your head to respond to everyone as soon as you were off work. You'd write a message to Kichi as well, apologizing for yelling earlier and probably escalating the situation. 

In a twisted way, it was funny to you. How he thought you were in love with Nagito. 

If only he knew about the knots in your stomach at the sound of his name.

\---

**Message To ‘Kichi :P’**

**Hey. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for this morning. I didn't mean to yell and get angry so I apologize for that. I hope you're having a good day and that whatever you're doing it's working out.**

**Kaede contacted me about having a group meeting tonight with some others from V3 (Miu Iruma and Kiibo Iidabashi) and I was wondering if you wanted to come? We’d just be talking about the plan and stuff. Just let me know and we can drive together :)**

Kokichi never responded to your message, to say the least.

When you pulled up to the meeting with Nagito in tow, you weren't expecting to see him lounging on the couch in Shuichi’s living room, a glass of something pink and sparkly in his hand. He seemed to be in a heated debate about cake frosting flavors with Rantaro, so you left the two alone to go introduce Nagito to some of the others. 

Something in your stomach felt wrong, like bees instead of butterflies. Ropes instead of ribbons. 

“The gorgeous Miu Iruma, never at your service,” the pink-haired girl boasted loud enough for the entire house to hear. She stuck out her perfectly manicured hand for you and Nagito to awkwardly shake. 

Miu wore knee-high pink boots and white fishnets underneath a short white skirt, her crop top decorated with the word ‘bitch’ across her chest in sparkly, hot pink lettering. Her hair fell over her shoulders in soft pink curls, large hoop earrings disappearing into the strands. She smelled like Victoria's Secret perfume from the 90s, a pear and vanilla combination that was intoxicatingly sweet. She elbowed the boy beside her, harsh enough to make him flinch. “And this is not-a-robot Kiibaby.”

Kiibo rubbed his arm and held out his hand, politely introducing himself as Kiibo Iidabashi. White hair fell around the wire-rimmed glasses that he wore, his blue eyes and soft smile calm and welcoming. He wore a black turtleneck and black jeans, a grey denim jacket draped over the chair behind him. Miu’s fluffy pink purse lay on top of it, along with a pair of keys with a huge pom-pom on them. 

Himiko and Tenko sat on the couch close by, speaking in hushed tones and glancing over at you and Nagito every once and awhile. Himiko was braiding the top of Tenko’s shoulder-length hair, securing it with a hair tie, and tying a soft green ribbon in a bow over the ends.

You caught the green-eyed girl's gaze and she smiled at you, the beauty mark beside her lip disappearing into a dimple. You smiled back, the sudden gesture of friendliness calming your nerves. 

Kaede walked over to your group, her light pink dress swaying as she walked. Her hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, baby hairs falling in wisps around her face. “Do you guys want a drink?” She asked, bright and smiley as ever. She held up her wine glass, filled with something red and sweet-smelling. 

You shook your head, tugging on the edges of your sleeve to distract yourself. “No, thank you.” 

“Awe c’mon! Don’t let this night get more depressing than it already is,” Miu whined, reaching over and tousling the top of your hair. She grabbed your chin and tilted your head from side to side as if making a judgment on it. “You’re young, you’re cute- get some alcohol in you already.” She patted your cheek and pulled back, draping her arm over Kiibo’s shoulders. 

You smoothed down your hair and couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm in the midst of everyone else’s somber expressions (besides Kaede, but she didn't count). “Nah, I'm alright. I don’t really drink.”

Nagito sideyed you nervously and brushed your hand with his as if to say, ‘Is this okay? Do you need this?’

You clasped your hands in front of you. 

After introducing Nagito to Tenko and Himiko, the pair both taking to him kindly despite Tenko’s protests that she didn’t need to be introduced to an inferior male, you trapped him into a conversation with Kaede about his season of Danganronpa and left to check on Kichi. 

Rantaro had left at some point, Shuichi replacing him on the couch. The pair sat close to each other, Shuichi turned towards Kichi on his left. The blue-haired boy wore a grey sweater with a gold necklace that fell over the front. You noticed the jewelry glinting in his ears as well, similar to Rantaro yet less attention attracting. His hair usually covered it, but at the moment, he had the larger strands tucked behind his ears which left the hoops and tiny gemstones exposed. 

Kichi sat comfortably beside him, twirling his hair around in circles, similar to how he had that morning, and talking to Shuichi in a soft voice. He wasn’t wearing one of your shirts today, but instead, a soda pop purple short sleeve with a few safety pins clipped around his shoulders and the hem. With his feet propped up on the table in front of him, you could see his ripped black jeans and checkered shoes he always wore. 

He looked good, he always did. And Shuichi looked at him with soft eyes and a smile playing on his lips. 

The ropes around your heart tightened. 

You spun back around and made towards the bathroom. There wasn't much else to do but sit on the closed toilet seat and stare at the wall, wondering if he was just trying to make you jealous or if you really had walked in on something. 

Shuichi wouldn't do that to you, right? He’d just offered to help- something that friends do. But then again... how was he to know? 

How were either of them to know? 

It was at that moment, staring at the white wall of Shuichi Saihara’s bathroom, that you realized you were in love with your temporary roommate. 

Well shit. 

Kaede had gathered everyone in the living room when you got back, and thankfully, there was a spot beside Kichi that you fast-walked for. Shuichi still sat on his other side, nervously scrolling through what looked like notes on his phone. 

You nudged Kichi with your elbow. “Hey.”

He pretended to be surprised, as if he hadn't seen you walk over and felt the couch lower under your added weight, plastering an exaggerated smile on his face. “Hey straangerrr.”

The bees buzzed in your stomach. 

“How was today?” You asked, pretending as if he hadn’t ignored your text message. Pretending as if you hadn’t sent it at all. 

He tilted his head to the side and tapped his fingers against his leg, one by one. His nails were painted black today, the edges already chipped despite having done them at some point since that morning. You wondered if he did it on purpose. “It was… well.” 

You nodded. “That's good,” you said, scooting in your seat in a way that didn't really change your position at all. Still, the movement reminded you of the keys in your pocket uncomfortably pressing into your leg. “Also, uh, how'd you get here?”

He smiled brightly. “I walked!”

“It’s five miles.”

He rolled his eyes and flicked your forehead harder than usual. That was going to leave a red mark. “Silly y/n, that's even less than my daily workout. You gotta stay fit to run from the cops.” He mischievously held up a finger to his lips and winked.

Shuichi leaned over, his hair untucking from his ear and falling over one of his eyes. “He said you were at work and asked me to drive him.” His gold necklace dangled from his neck and now that you were closer you could tell that it was a tiny anchor.

You nodded with a soft smile. “Thanks, Shuichi.”

Kichi pouted in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Shumai is no fun.” He kicked his feet back and forth, banging his heels against the couch. 

Miu strutted into the center of the room, her figure taller than everyone else in her six-inch platform boots. It was almost intimidating considering you were sitting directly in front of her. If you were any shorter, you’d probably be able to see up her skirt, a thought that made you begin messing with the edges of your sleeves again. She loudly clapped her hands. “Everyone take your seats and _shut up_ !” She pointed at Kichi with one long, pink acrylic fingernail as he continued to kick the couch. “That mostly includes you _shit head_.”

“Awh I missed you too _whore_!” 

You covered your face with your hands as Miu spluttered something unintelligible and slunk back into her seat next to Kiibo. The white-haired boy looked visibly uncomfortable as well, and you were met with sympathetic eyes as you caught each other's gaze.

Nagito sat near Kaede on the adjacent couch, his arms wrapped around his body, and part of you felt guilty for lumping him with the peppy blonde. 

It was selfish, he _was_ your ‘guest’ after all. You just didn't want him to get the wrong idea like Kichi obviously already had. They were both observant, meaning if you had unconsciously played into his actions he’d probably noticed them as well. It was just remnants of how things used to be, of the things you used to long for that he was now dropping into your lap. Maybe there was a part of you that wanted them just for closure for your older self. To prove that you were always worthy of them. Or maybe you wanted to lead him on like he’d done to you, just to disappear one day and never answer his text messages or calls. 

You totally weren't still bitter. 

Nagito being here was just one big mess that didn't seem like it was going to be fixed anytime soon, so you just had to do the best you could with the current circumstances. As for now, that meant awkwardly avoiding him. 

Give or take. 

He held up his hand. “Hi. Everyone.”

You half expected a chorus of ‘Hi Nagito’ from the others like you were at an alcoholic’s anonymous meeting. 

Not like you'd ever been to one of those or anything. 

He cleared his throat. “Me, Kokichi, and y/n have come up with something we think might work. To get out of the reunion season.”

Miu rolled her eyes. “Bullshit.” 

As Kiibo put his hand on her knee, she leaned back into her seat with a quiet huff. 

“Continuing despite that skank pig's interruption,” Kichi mumbled. He plastered a smile back onto his face and scooted to the edge of his seat, balling his hands into fists at his side. “We fixed everything! Danganronpa has officially been outwitted by the greatest mastermind of your generation! No need to thank me-”

“We weren't going to,” Tenko interrupted with a disgusted expression, cracking each of her knuckles in turn.

Kichi glared at her. 

Nagito took the lead and went on to explain the plan you’d all come up with, adding in the details about his experiences contacting the other top ten contestants from his season. Most of them agreed to the plan- sans Mikan, Kazuichi, and Ibuki who didn't want to risk standing up to Danganronpa. He was clearly displeased at this, quiet resentment breeding in his eyes, but he glossed over it as fear on their part and moved on with the conversation. 

“-so y/n is going to do all of this? They don't seem to be the most capable...”

“Are you sure Danganronpa’s going to take them as legitimate?”

“How are they going to find another job so quickly?”

You wrung your hands in your lap, glancing over to see Shuichi alternating between doing the same and biting the skin around his fingernails. You’d already noticed the dried blood there earlier, and he was likely reopening old wounds with his anxiety. Part of you hoped that Kichi would reach over and stop him despite the jealousy you know it’d make you feel.

“Uh, yeah. I’m going to help as best I can. My friend’s a doctor and she’s currently looking for a job for me, so I should be practicing again soon. And since I’m legitimate and have all my credentials Danganronpa has to take your paperwork, there's no way around it.”

Everyone nodded at your answer, seemingly satisfied by it. 

Tenko and Himiko frowned, apparently still holding reservations, but you took this as natural regarding the circumstances. They both hadn’t spoken much, and you wondered what their real thoughts were on the matter. They were obviously just as traumatized as everyone else, hurt beyond repair. You could see it in the way they never left each other's side, stuck at the hip even as they sat comfortably on the couch. 

Miu flipped her hair over her shoulder and rested her elbows on her knees. “And what’s the twink’s role in all of this?”

It took you a few seconds to realize she was talking about Kichi. 

He scoffed. “I already told you! _I’m_ the mastermind in all of this.” He pressed his thumb against his chest and smiled.

You nudged him gently. “Kichi’s going to come with Nagito and me to the Danganronpa complex to show them all the files. Actually, uh, we were hoping you could come with us too, Shuichi?”

The blue-haired boy dropped the hand he was biting at into his lap and nodded. He shifted in his seat as all eyes turned to him. “Yeah, Kokichi talked to me about it earlier. I’d be happy to.”

The bees in your stomach slowed down at this, the pieces coming together as their hushed conversation suddenly made more sense.

Kichi leaned his head on your shoulder. “Yup! The ever-helpful Shuichi Saihara comes to the rescue.” He turned his head to look up at you and fluttered his eyelashes. “Though we _all know_ the lovely _y/n_ is the most important piece of the puzzle, riiiight?”

Your eyes widened and you laughed nervously. “Thanks but no, I'm definitely not. Everyone-” 

“He’s right, for once,” Miu grumbled, holding out her hand in front of her to inspect her nails. She frowned. “This is all counting on you, ya know. So you better not fuck it up! My Kiibaby here can't be in another season, got it?”

You pressed your tongue against the back of your teeth and smiled uncomfortably. “Yeah. I'm gonna try my best to get you all out. I promise.”

The rest of the meeting was spent discussing details of booking ‘appointments’ with you, such as exchanging numbers and figuring out what order everyone would go in. Shuichi had pulled a clipboard, paper, and fancy pens out of his briefcase, which everyone passed around to write down their updated information and what days in the next few weeks worked best for them. Kichi made note that he lived with you in his section (in all caps) before the clipboard got passed around to the others.

You smiled as you got it back, seeing everyone's personalities come through in the color pen they had picked and their unique handwriting. Miu had her own sparkly pin pen that she used for both her and Kiibo, writing down the timid boy’s information for him. Kichi used the purple, of course, slipping it not so discreetly into his pocket just to give it back to Shuichi later without much of a fight. 

Nothing was really set in stone until Miriana followed through on her plans to find you a job, and you felt bad that you couldn’t do anything concretely for the group yet. 

You remembered when you’d explained everything about Danganronpa and Kichi to Miriana. She hadn't been surprised, to say the least. She knew Kichi was from Danganronpa from the moment he’d walked in the door, apparently recognizing him from clips she'd seen of the show.

You guessed your attempts to actively avoid new Danganronpa seasons at all costs had paid off. 

“I also knew you'd be into him from the moment you introduced yourself… Oh, how I wished I wasn't right.”

You ignored that part. 

When you asked her about the job she’d sighed and rubbed her temples. You knew it was just another item on her long list of things to do, and you half suspected she might say no. After all, you’d brought a new roommate into the apartment who’d completely taken over the living room without telling or consulting her. You also passed out from blood loss in her kitchen. 

She’d immediately gone and written ‘find roommate a job’ in her planner, which you found kind of humiliating. Still, it was something. 

“Think of it as repayment for your silence all these months,” she’d said. 

With all the chaos recently, you'd kind of forgot you helped harbor criminals in your apartment on the regular. Was Kichi now considered a criminal if he continued hiding from Danganronpa?  
(What's another on the list, anyways.)

The car ride home was full of awkward silence until you dropped Nagito off at his bus stop. After that, Kichi brightened up, seemingly forgetting about the fight that morning. You couldn't help but wonder if it was because of how cold you'd been towards Nagito at the meeting. 

You'd have to text the white-haired boy and apologize. Maybe. 

Kichi draped his sock-covered feet on the dashboard, his shoes long forgotten on the floor. “It was weird seeing Miu again,” he mused.

You pulled into the parking lot for your apartment and unlocked the doors.

“I think she likes you,” he teased, elbowing you as you walked beside each other towards the entrance, a smirk plastered on his face.

You rolled your eyes as you used your keycard to open up the door to the staircase. It beeped three times before the door swung open and Kichi skipped inside. “I think she likes everybody,” you muttered.

“Not me,” he sang, spinning around in a circle as the door closed behind you both. “You think that whore could ever appreciate someone like _me_ ? Kokichi _Ouma_?”

You laughed. “I guess not.”

You walked up the stairs to your apartment with Kichi holding onto the edge of your sleeve, trailing behind you as you entered and not letting go even as you locked the door behind you. 

You shook your arm. “You good?”

He slid his hand down to hold yours. “Now I am!”

You bit back a smile and swung your arms back and forth as you walked towards the couch. He sat down beside you, never letting go of your hand as he picked up the remote to put on a movie. You kicked off your shoes and scooted closer, pulling one of the blankets Kichi slept with over the two of you. It was the fluffy grey one that used to belong to you, and you welcomed the warmth after the prickling cold of the winter outside.

Kichi sideyed you and squeezed your hand. “You did good at the meeting.”

You looked away so he couldn't see your flustered expression, running your free fingers through the fluff of the blanket. “Thanks. I didn’t think so.”

A cheesy comedy started playing on TV and Kichi threw the remote onto the floor, the device clattering against the carpet as the back came off along with two of the batteries. They rolled across the room, eventually coming to a stop under the dining room table.

He shrugged. “Oopsies.”

You rolled your eyes and went to stand up to fix the remote, but he pulled you back down before you had a chance to react. You landed half in his lap, your side pressed against his chest and the blanket wrapped around the both of you. 

“Let the remote suffer.” Kichi let go of your hand and wrapped his arms around you. “It deserves it.”

You leaned into the touch and rested your head on his shoulder. “What did the remote ever do to you?”

He pressed his nose into your hair and smiled. “Everything.”


End file.
